


We Are a Woven Thread

by starsandauras



Series: The World's a Beast of a Burden [7]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Arm Wrestling, Big brothers being jerks, Canon-Typical Violence, Drinking Contest, Education vs Entertainment, F/M, M/M, Mob Violence, Multi, Multiple Warriors of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Parent Death, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Precision in Language, Pregnancy, Racism, Religion, Second-Hand Embarrassment, Teasing, Use of In-Game Dialogue, parental abandonment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-05 10:57:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 30
Words: 31,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16809298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsandauras/pseuds/starsandauras
Summary: My fills for the #FFXIVWrite2017 challenge from last year, featuring a somewhat dysfunctional family of multiple Warriors of Light, their lives and adventures.I will do my best to update a chapter a day! Tags will be updated as each chapter is posted.





	1. Table of Contents

**Author's Note:**

> This Table of Contents is here in order to give everyone a summary of what's coming down the pipeline and to give any warnings each individual chapter will include.

**1\. Table of Contents**  
(You are here!)

**2\. Nightmares**  
(Light Brigid/Thancred. Nightmares of a bad end.)  
  
**3\. Forgery**  
(Gen. How Brigid fell into Blacksmith and Armory work.) ****  
  
**4\. Worship**  
(Gen. Brigid on religion.)

**5\. Songwriter**  
(Gen. Arthur and Llewellyn discuss if it's really so important the Wandering Minstrel tells the tales correctly.)

**6\. Trickster  
**(Light Llewellyn/Sammy, light Araki/Arthur/Matsu. William takes up the title of prankster.)

**7\. Why Am I Needin' to Pick?**  
(Gen. Warnings for violence. Brigid's fluctuating identity between Black Mage and Ninja.)

**8\. Of Leaves and Loves**  
(Llewellyn/Sammy, reference to Brigid/Thancred. The lone physical reminder of the O'Donnell's mother that belongs to Llewellyn is damaged, prompting Sammy to try to fix it.)

**9\. Light and Shadow**  
(Gen. How Connor took up the mantle of Dark Knight.)

**10\. "Be Safe" | "I Miss You"**  
(Brigid/Thancred. Two conversations over linkpearl, a heart swelling and a heart breaking.)

**11\. By the Flat of Her Palm**  
(Gen. An unintentional "Five Times" fic, featuring how many people Brigid wanted to slap and one she did.)

**12\. A Dark Knight's Justice**  
(Gen. The continuing story of Connor as a Dark Knight.)

**13\. A Fool's Hope**  
(Gen. Warning for racism. Brigid breaks up a gang of Wood Wailers beating a Duskwight Elezen.)

**14\. Healing the Wounded**  
(Pre-Llewellyn/Sammy. The path leading Llewellyn to becoming a healer started with a starfish.)

**15\. Smart Arse**  
(Light Brigid/Thancred, Araki/Arthur/Matsu. Arthur's sharp tongue veers a little too far.)

**16\. "I Mean, the Doppelgangers Come Pre-Installed Here"**  
(Gen. Brigid and Matsu discuss the annoying parts of being twins.)

**17\. Fuel, Flame, Farewell**  
(Brigid/Thancred. The evolution of the relationship, leading up to the escape after the Bloody Banquet.) ****  
  
**18\. How Life Ends Up**  
(Light Brigid/Thancred. Brigid and William get a moment alone and discuss fate.)

**19\. Pace Yourself**  
(Gen. Brigid in a drinking contest.)

**20\. Taking it Literally**  
(Gen. In which I took the prompt "Battle of Wills" a bit too seriously.)

**21\. Assumptions**  
(Gen. The nature of being mixed Hyur/Elezen from Arthur's perspective.)

**22\. Home**  
(Gen. The way wind feels in various locations in Brigid's search for home.)

**23\. Childhood Fears**  
(Gen. Connor and imaginary monsters.)

**24\. Skip the Line**  
(Gen. William vs Ishgardian lower nobility. Warning for a line of slut-shaming.)

**25\. The Right Information**  
(Gen. Brigid and the worst part of the BLM HW quests: Zhai'a.)

**26\. Hope**  
(Maybe gen? Sacredness and hope as Brigid muses on the man who gave her her child.)

**27.** **Idiocy**  
(Mention of Araki/Arthur/Matsu. Light Llewellyn/Sammy. Connor continues to lodge his whole leg in his mouth.)

**28\. Lacking** **Competition**  
(Brigid/Thancred. It was cute Thancred's admirers thought there was a competition to be in.)

**29\. False (?) Prophecy**  
(Mention of Araki/Arthur/Matsu. The Wandering Minstrel messes with Arthur's head.)

**30\. Frost and Flame**  
(Gen. Brigid's first day as a Thaumaturge.)


	2. Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #1: Specter

She was alone, separated from her party, from her _family_ , and all she could do was run. They had failed, they had failed and it was all her fault. She had hesitated at the last moment and that had cost _them_ , cost all of Eorzea because she could not control her stupid little heart. They had warned her, all of them had going in, that she _could not hesitate_ when the time came. She had sworn to them she wouldn’t, that she was going in knowing exactly what might need to be done.

_‘Twould be thankin’ me for it,_ she replied every time, not only to convince them but herself as well. He _would_ thank her for it if he could, she was certain. Even if they’d only known each other for such a short amount of time, she was certain she knew him well enough that he would thank her.

She knew this and still when faced with him at the end… she could not bring down her staff. Could not cast that fire he was so fond of. The creature that wore his face smiled in triumph, cruel and horrible and she wanted to sob, at herself and her failure. He swept the others away as though they meant nothing to him. They likely didn’t. His focus, with those stolen brown eyes, was set squarely on her.

So she ran, away from the fight, away from the wreckage. Away from everyone that had trusted her to do what needed to be done. The thing she couldn’t do. She should have been able to do it _why couldn’t she do it_?

She collided with something solid and she fell to the ground roughly, banging up a body that had already been through too much even with distance and healers. She sat up, hoping against hope that she had run into one of her brothers, maybe even her twin, _someone_ who would understand and hopefully not judge her for it.

Instead emerald eyes met stolen brown. She tried to scream, but she made no noise, not even a strained whimper. She mouthed words that would not come and she felt a cold hand that she knew all too well close around her throat, lifting her above him as though she weighed nothing. She tried to struggle, to claw at the hand that wasn’t his but her hands felt like lead, refusing to move.

He twisted lips that weren’t his into a cruel smirk, callous and cold enough to send daggers of ice through her heart. He spoke, but she heard no words as the world around her began to fade around the edges, going black. The last thing she saw were those lips she knew so well, speaking words that were not his by someone who was not him.

* * *

She felt warm hands on her shoulders first. She struggled against them, still caught in her mind, not hearing the voice calling out her name until she snapped open her eyes.

There he sat, neck decorated with the slowly blooming red marks she’d left on him earlier that night, a worried smile on his face, hand hesitantly reaching out to brush through blood red hair. She lay there for a moment, frozen and trying to remember where she was: The Waking Sands, in her room, in her bed, with Thancred.

“Brigid?” he whispered, voice as worried as his smile.

She suddenly sobbed out his name and flung herself into his arms, clinging tightly to him and sobbing onto his bare shoulder as he tightened his arms around her, holding her close and rubbing his hand along her equally bare back. He traced patterns out of her scars as he murmured nonsense in her ear to soothe her. “Only a nightmare,” he promised, pressing a kiss first to her cheek, then her forehead as he brushed her fringe to the side. “Naught that can harm you.”

She looked up at him, eyes red with tears still to shed and choked back a pathetic whimper. He brushed away a tear that seemed content to settle in the scar that crossed her eye and she turned to nuzzle her face into his hand. “Be stayin’ safe?” she whispered, voice as full of tears as her eyes. “Please?”

And though they both knew he couldn’t, that their lives as Scions meant putting themselves in danger with every breath, he still nodded. “Of course, my lady.”

She clung to him again, unwilling to let go of this one firm rock in the sea of swirling nightmares and Echo-sent visions she could hold on to. And she _would_ hold on to him, keep him safe. She would never allow anything to take him away from her again. Not now.


	3. Forgery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #2: Synthetic

“Who’s bein’ th’ Bahamut ball suckin’ _filth_ who was makin’ this?!” Brigid all but roared as she stormed her way into Naldiq & Vymelli's, eyes flashing with rage. To their credit Brithael and H'naanza only looked calmly at each other before inwardly sighing.

“Yer most recent order, I take it?” Brithael asked, forcing a cheerful smile to his face and pretended that his client wasn’t an enraged Warrior of Light who specialized in, if rumors were true, black magic and had ties to the Lominsan underground.

“Oh aye me most recent order!” As if to punctuate that declaration she plunged a dagger into the nearest table, a dagger that was broken off an ilm from the hilt, he noticed swiftly. “I was orderin’ meself a pair of Misericordes, and what am I gettin’?!” She pulled out the other and dashed it against the stone wall, the weapon shattering into at least a dozen shards. “Shite I wouldnae be defendin’ a _sandcastle_ with!”

H’naanza quietly picked up one of the shards and studied it closely, clearly leaving Brithael to calm Brigid. “O’ course ye’re angry, Mistress O’Donnell,” he started, holding his hands up placatingly. “We’ll get to the bottom o’ this, I promise ye. An’ refund yer gil.”

“Ill-tempered iron passed off as darksteel,” H’naanza muttered, shaking her head.

“Lookin’ at that I’m doubtin’ ‘twas bein’ tempered ‘tall,” Brigid grumbled, her rage clearly having been expended on shattering the fake dagger. She crossed her arms and leaned over to study the metal with the Miqo’te. “Wouldnae be surprised if the iron was bein’ impure on top of it.”

H’naanza’s ears perked up and she glanced sidelong at Brithael, who nodded slightly. He crossed his arms as well and a real smile crossed his face. “Do ye know somethin’ o’ metalworkin’ then, lass?” he asked, a casual tone to his words.

Brigid nodded absently, still studying the metal. “Da was knowin’ a bit of blacksmithin’,” she replied. “‘Nough to be gettin’ by repairin’ what’s broken out at sea, and then what’s broken on land when he was settlin’ down with Mum.” She gave him a weak smile. “Tried to be teachin’ each of us, wasnae takin’ so well. I was bein’ too fond of the finished bit than the makin’, then.”

The blacksmith guildleader chuckled, uncrossing his arms and putting one hand on a hip. “I suddenly have room for an apprentice, if ye’d like to try again.” Brigid tilted her head at that, and he continued. “Ye have an eye for ores, if what’s been coming across my desk under yer name is any sign.”

“And mine,” H’naaza added, sighing to herself softly and going off in search of a broom to clean up the shards of metal.

“‘Twould be keepin’ costs down,” Brigid murmured, half to herself. “Connor’s bein’ a right terror with his swords, and Twelve be helpin’ Araki with his axes.” She thought for a moment longer, then smiled and nodded. “When are you wantin’ me to start?”

He laughed and handed Brigid a hammer. “Right now, if ye’d like to help root out the fool who made yer daggers.”

* * *

“Wait hold up,” interrupted Connor, knocking back what was left of the beer in his mug. “That’s why you took up both blacksmithing _and_ armory?”

Brigid crossed her legs and reached out to ruffle her youngest brother’s hair, grinning at his pout as he sullenly smoothed the reddish blond mess back down. “Oh nay, nay bein’ the whole reason. ‘Tis bein’ right profitable.” She took a sip of her whiskey and hummed to herself. “Though runnin’ the idiot what was makin’ fake daggers for the wrong lass out of town was bein’ quite fun as well.”

The younger O’Donnell grumbled to himself about ‘violent and blade-obsessed sisters’ as William came by and dropped a bag of what sounded like quite a bit of gil on the table in front of her. “Jes’ sold th’ last ay it,” he said with a smile and leaned down to press a kiss to the top of his twin’s head.

Brigid grinned and pulled the bag open, making a small noise of happiness as she looked into it. “Aye, ‘tis what I’m likin’ to see!”

His family was insane, Connor was sure of it. But, he mused as Brigid passed gil first to William, then to himself, and muttered to herself about the others’ share, perhaps that insanity could be worth it.


	4. Worship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #3: The Twelve

Brigid would happily be the first to declare that the Ishgardians had an… interesting relationship… to the Twelve. Mainly one where they seemingly forgot eleven of them existed due to their fixation on Halone. It was very strange, coming from a family that made it clear all Twelve were to be worshiped even if one had favorites, to find herself somewhere that made it quite clear The Fury was the most important.

She would also happily be the first to declare the irony of her confusion, given how many people seemed to think her patron was Halone, and not Nald’Thal.

Still, she had to admit that Saint Reymanaud's Cathedral was an incredibly soothing place to be, and there was certainly nothing stopping her from praying to the rest of the Twelve in such a place. Who would know? She also knew that her near-daily striding into the Cathedral could win herself some points with the more devout of Ishgard, seeing an outsider so devoted to The Fury.

She would pray to Nophica in the wilds, out of respect for the feud between the goddesses, she thought as she settled into one of the pews near the back and bowed her head. In the distance she could hear soft music playing. That was the most soothing part of being in the Cathedral honestly. There were some days she didn’t even come to pray, just to listen to the music and pretend, just for a moment, that she wasn’t one of the Warriors of Light, that she was simply a young woman seeking a place of solace with the Twelve.

Llewellyn would probably say that was its own form of worship. He was the more pious of them all, though like in all things he did he was quiet about it. Some of her earliest memories were of him or their mother humming Nophica’s Hymn to soothe the rest of them to sleep. Brigid liked that idea, liked that faith could be something so simple and easy. The masses the Ishgardians had for The Fury were interesting, and the chorus was lovely (truth be told it was Brigid’s favorite part of the service), but often all she wanted was to sit in the quiet and hear all the things that made up all of the Twelve’s creation.

The sounds of the students of the Scholasticate, going to and from their studies. The soft footsteps of the priests going about their daily duties. Murmured prayers from the faithful that she tried her hardest to ignore. Prayers should never be eavesdropped on after all. They were private between the penitent and the divine. She could hear quiet coos from doves roosting in the roof, and once nearly laughed as she heard a Temple Knight fall over in front of the Cathedral doors. She hoped it was Estinien, even if it was unlikely, solely out of amused spite.

If she was willing to admit it to herself, she would say she could spend most of the day sitting in the back of the Cathedral, ignoring the pain in her lungs from the chill of Ishgard, even indoors with the great fires built in the fireplaces, listening to the sounds of Eorzea. She didn’t expect nor particularly desire to hear Hydaelyn speak to her, but she imagined that she could hear the Twelve whisper to her: This is what you fight for, yes even the zealots who took their faith too far. Peace. And you will deliver it to them. Someday.

_But first_ , Halone murmured, _you must fight. You will show your enemies why they fear you. Even if you must destroy everything they hold dear. Destruction shall follow in your wake, and you will look back upon it and call it Good._

With that Brigid flashed a private grin that would put fear in the heart of Nidhogg himself were he unlucky enough to be there to see it and nodded. She scooped up her staff and stood, bowing reverently to the statue of The Fury before striding out of the Cathedral, head held high and back straight.

There was, after all, a _reason_ people thought she was one of Halone’s, and she would remind them all before she was done.


	5. Songwriter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #4: Self-Editing

Arthur roughly ran his fingers through his blond hair, scowling down at the parchment on the desk. “All trash,” he grumbled, grabbing it and crumpling it up with a bit more force than was needed before throwing it over his shoulder. It joined other crumpled balls of parchment on the floor, giving the inn room the impression that a small family of tumbleweeds had moved in for the moon.

Dipping his quill in the ink nearby he started again, the scratching as it met a new sheet of parchment clearly audible in the otherwise quiet room. Arthur had turned off the orchestrion the moment he entered the room, scowling at the choice of music it provided. One day, he thought to himself, he would find their music in one of those. One day.

Though with how matters were going now that day would be a long way off. One wrong word, even stress on the wrong syllable, and it would all be for nothing. He read back what he’d set down this time, and after a few seconds he growled loudly, letting his head fall to the desk, smearing the ink in the process. “Damn this to the Seventh Hell!” he groaned, snatching the sheet and repeating the process with far more viciousness than was quite called for.

He threw it over his shoulder and nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard a soft ‘ow’ come from behind him. He spun around, almost knocking the bottle of ink off the desk in the process. “Where the blazes did you come from?!” he squawked, and Llewellyn sighed as he sat down on the edge of the nearby bed.

“The guild, of course,” he said quietly. He slid a finger over the shallow cut on his face, healing it as though it was nothing. Arthur wouldn’t know anything about that of course, finding it needlessly difficult to cast even a simple _Physick_ spell. Llewellyn then reached down to pick up one of the balls of paper, looking it over carefully. His eldest brother was the quiet one, and would speak when he was ready. He weighed his words, deciding when they were worth saying or not. “What are you working on?”

Arthur sighed and leaned back in his chair, running his hand through his hair again. It was starting to get shaggy, he realized, but be damned if he was going to summon Jandelaine and be lectured about how boring the style he preferred was. “Writing to Shida,” he replied, and Llewellyn nodded, knowing he meant the Wandering Minstrel they’d all become acquainted with. He was one of the few friendships Arthur had managed to cultivate since he left home for the Arcanists’ Guild, and they all were determined to help him keep it. “I thought he might like to hear of our latest adventures.”

Llewellyn nodded. “And this required…” He glanced about the room, counting silently. “…Fifteen sheets of parchment?” The scolding was barely implied and Arthur still flinched at it. Okay maybe he was wasting the paper, but with as many crafters in the group surely they could easily make more?

So he huffed and reached for yet another sheet. “We can use them as kindling,” he muttered, trying to write the letter anew. “And you know what will happen if we tell Shida anything even slightly exaggerated.” At the long stretch of silence he glanced out the corner of an eye to see Llewellyn smiling softly at him. “You _have_ heard what he made of our fight with Ifrit, yes?”

He nodded again, smoothing out the paper ball he’d picked up. “It was very nice. You all prevailed over overwhelming odds. I was very proud of all of you.”

Arthur snorted. “It was a load of chocobo shite,” he all but spat. “We certainly did not destroy over thirty nails before Ifrit spammed three ultimate attacks. But that’s what happens when I get drunk and say ‘a lot’ instead of… what was it, four? Five nails before one ultimate?” He shook his head, knowing that Llewellyn certainly wouldn’t know, Feli was the only healer back then.

Llewellyn grinned at him before reaching out to ruffle his hair. “And I’m still very proud of you, even if your carbuncle doesn’t actually reach your hips.” He laughed softly when Arthur pouted at him but didn’t stop him from messing with his hair as Connor would have.

“Still, you can see why I have to be _very exact_ in my language. Otherwise we’ll start hearing the tale of how, I don’t know, how we fought off a giant green chicken on some bridge in the middle of nowhere.” He groaned and his head fell to the desk again. “And by the Twelve if that actually does happen I’ll hate myself forever.” Llewellyn nodded and started rubbing Arthur’s shoulder in sympathy.

“I do see that,” he agreed, looking over the paper again. “But… how would that be undesirable?” Arthur slowly looked up at his brother and blinked owlishly at him.

“Because it’s not true?” he replied slowly, not sure he was hearing Llewellyn correctly. “These events will go down in history books and it is our duty to ensure they are recounted _correctly_ , so that no one will be mistaken about our actions.”

Llewellyn nodded, seemingly studying the parchment. Thinking the matter over, Arthur returned to the latest version of his letter, mentally debating every word he set down. After a long but still companionable silence between the Elezen and Hyur siblings, Llewellyn spoke again. “Are songs history books?”

Arthur blinked and then looked up at him, confusion clear on his face. “No..?” he answered, staring at his brother. “Of course they’re not. They do make it easier to pass down history, but they aren’t texts.”

Another nod from the Elezen as he sat down the paper. “Would you want to hear the song of the Warriors of Light running a flock of chickens out of the Aftcastle or fighting a giant green chicken on a bridge out in the middle of nowhere?” He looked up at Arthur, the family’s green eyes looking back at him. “Which would entertain you more, I wonder.”

Arthur paused, looking down at the balls of paper scattered about. “…for entertainment’s sake?” He shrugged. “The green chicken. But I’d rather have the truth in my education.”

He laughed and shook his head fondly. “Spoken like a true son of Thaliak,” he murmured.

“And you speak as a true son of Nophica.” Arthur placed the quill back in the inkwell and sighed. “You’re effectively saying I should leave history to history and entertainment to Shida.”

The elder hummed softly and tilted his head. “Is that what I’m saying?” he asked with a smile. “I thought I was asking about the entertainment value in a green chicken.” He pulled a small bag out of a pocket and offered it to Arthur. “Blueberry?”

He stared at Llewellyn for a moment before sighing and nodding. “Yes, thank you.” He nibbled for a moment at the dried fruit as he thought. “I’ve been overthinking this, haven’t I?” he asked softly, and Llewellyn nodded. “I should just write the letter normally, shouldn’t I?”

“Naught good ever comes from over censoring oneself,” he replied. “Besides, no matter how exacting your words to Shida are, he will always exaggerate for the sake of a good story. So you might as well write it as it comes to you, and know that if nothing else, what he eventually sings to others will be exciting.”

Arthur sighed and nodded. “As always you get right to the heart of the matter,” he decided, turning back to his paper. “Thank you, Llew.”

Llewellyn smiled and put the bag on the desk next to the ink well before pulling a cloth out of his other pocket and dampened it with a water spell. “Of course. Now let me get the ink off your forehead before someone sees,” he said, already trying to dab at Arthur’s forehead.

The younger sputtered and flailed about, instinctively pulling away. “Llew!”

“You’ll thank me for it later when your fans are singing songs of giant green chickens instead of the markings on your forehead, I promise.”


	6. Trickster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #5: Prank  
> Welcome to Will's accent.

Most didn’t bother to pay any attention to William. He wasn’t a Warrior of Light after all, he was just his twin sister’s retainer. He was rough around the edges, accent far thicker than it had any right to be, and did not look a bit out of place sulking about the far less savory parts of any city. This didn’t bother him at all. He was perfectly happy keeping to the back and making sure his family made it through all their trials and tribulations.

Besides, being ignored like that was as much an advantage as one might think it a disadvantage.

It was a simple task really. Especially if he limited himself to his family. As much fun as it would be prank Matsu or Araki, he did not relish the idea of dealing with their… retaliation. If he even thought of pranking Sammy Llewellyn would use the Sad And Disappointed Older Brother face on him and he knew he couldn’t survive that. So his siblings it was.

He was thankful that Brigid had taken the time to teach him all the rogue skills she picked up over their adventures as he made his way into his older brother’s room under cover of Hide. Going through his pack wouldn’t have been unusual, given his retainer’s duties, but it would have made things much less fun in the morning. He did the same to Arthur’s pack, chuckling to himself as he did. Arthur’s might turn out to be a long game, but the payoff would be as amusing no matter when it turned up.

The next morning would see the start of his Reign of Terror.

* * *

Llewellyn didn’t need much in the morning. A nice cup of tea, the assurances of the continued health and safety of his party, and a good morning kiss from his Lalafellian lover. Simple things for a simple man.

As he made his tea he glanced over the others. Sammy was just as hale and whole as when they went to sleep, Brigid had new marks on her neck that he tried to ignore, Araki and Matsu were in the middle of one of their squabbles but hadn’t caused each other injury yet, and Connor continued to be his sullen teenage self. The party had a habit of hiding such things as injuries so he and Feli (who seemed to be absent this morning) would quietly look them over in the mornings, just in case. Sammy bounced onto the table with a smile, and that was enough to distract him from searching for William.

“Good morning,” he murmured, kissing Sammy on the cheek.

“You left early,” Sammy complained, but he kissed him in return, snuggling up as the Elezen poured them both some tea. “It was cold.”

Llewellyn laughed and tugged Sammy close to his side, the Lalafell happily cuddling up against the larger man. “It was? I apologize,” he replied softly before kissing him again.

It was a pretty picture, William thought. ‘Twould be a right shame to ruin it.

After a couple more kisses Llewellyn spooned some sugar into his cup. He would never understand why Sammy took his tea without sugar, but to each their own, he thought. He blew over the cup a few times, anticipating that first sip that would warm his bones and make him ready to face the day.

The flavor that reached his tongue was, in a word, _vile_.

Between the gagging and choking his eyes darted about, knowing _exactly_ who was to blame. Sammy sighed and simply slid his cup over to Llewellyn and poured himself another as his lover took the time to chug it, getting the nasty taste of black tea and _salt_ out of his mouth.

William smiled and ducked out of the room, just as he heard Llewellyn roar his name. He knew he’d be in trouble later, Llewellyn always did manage to claim his vengeance eventually, but for now he was happy enough to hear everyone laugh softly even as they offered him their own drinks.

* * *

It took nearly a week for William’s “gift” to Arthur to appear, and he tried not to think about what that said of his brother’s… habits.

He was tending the fire one evening, after the group had made camp for the night. Being near a river was a welcome chance for a bath, and they all took to it like wavekin to water. He tried to hide his excitement as Arthur walked off with his pack, simply waiting to hear the shriek of horror that was soon to come.

Arthur was _furious_ , and his topaz carbuncle reflected that, growling and barking in a way that was more adorable than threatening, but still made it clear that someone was soon to be on the losing end of a fight with it. “William Cináed Télesphore O’Donnell!”

Said retainer was sitting contentedly by the fire, chatting pleasantly with Brigid, who was taking the chance to speed along the drying of her hair. He forced back a grin as he looked up at Arthur. “Well Ah kenned ye nay loched havin’ da’s hair o’er mum’s,” he drawled, “but ‘tis bein’ ou’ in th’ middle ay naywhere bein’ th’ right place tae be pourin’ red dye on yer head?”

Brigid looked him over with cool flicks of her eyes and smiled. “‘Tis lookin’ more like brown,” she commented, going back to finger combing her hair free of knots.

“Might be th’ rust red,” William suggested, prodding at the fire as though nothing was happening and outright ignoring (at least to Arthur’s mind) that anything odd was happening.

“I know this is your fault, you chocobo’s arse!” he spat, glaring at him. “I’ll get back at you when you least expect it!” With that barely threatening threat he stalked over to Araki and Matsu, dropping down between them with a pout on his face. Matsu sighed and made the required tutting sounds of displeasure at his lover’s family as he studied Arthur’s hair in case he could find a way to return it to normal.

“I think it suits you dude,” Araki said, wide smile on his face. That earned him a shove from Arthur and a disapproving look from Matsu.

They had to wait until they reached an inn before William could put his next plan into motion, and he would need a little help from his sister for this one. Not that she was aware she was helping, of course. Bless her packrat tendencies, he thought to himself as he dug out one of the items she hadn’t managed to remember to have him sell yet. …He did rather hope this wouldn’t blow up in his face though.

The next morning Connor finally pulled himself out of the pile of blankets he buried himself under, hair completely mussed and still half asleep. He grumbled to himself about the sun rising far too early and shoved the covers off as he swung out of bed.

The resulting shriek had the rest of the party all but breaking down his door to find the paladin practically clinging to the ceiling and the floor covered in a thick sheet of ice. “Brigid _what the fuck_?!” he screamed, glaring at his sister.

“Language!” she scolded, and cut off his objections about her not saying anything about _Arthur’s_ swearing with “And ‘twasnae me! I wasnae even bein’ in the inn last night!” Suddenly everyone stopped talking amongst themselves and stared at Brigid. “What?! I was out lookin’ for cotton!”

“Cotton, right…” drawled Araki, getting an elbow in his stomach from Matsu for his trouble.

“Can we can talk about my sister’s sex life never?!” Connor yelled, still clinging to the beam sticking out of the wall. “And why is the floor made of ice?! Especially if Brigid didn’t do it?!” Brigid sighed and knelt down, putting her hand on the ice sheet. It melted away, the water quickly evaporating.

“Now can you quit clingin’ to things like a Miqo’te?” she grumbled and glared out the corner of her eye at William, who was not trying very hard at all to hide his smirk. “Honestly, from the sounds you’re makin’ folks would be thinkin’ a Nyx was gettin’ into the room.” With that Brigid strode away, somehow managing to look rather threatening while dressed in a flannel nightgown.

Later that evening when the group was settling down for sleep again Brigid looked up at William. “Should I be ‘xpectin’ some terrible joke from you?” she asked, and from her tone it was not one of amused curiosity.

He laughed and pulled her into a hug, stroking her hair until she relaxed. “‘Course nay,” he said fondly. “Ye’re me beloved sister, Ah’d nay e’er prank ye.” He chuckled and pulled back to tilt her face up to his. “Ye’d kill me.”

She stared at him a long moment before she laughed and cuddled up against him again. “Aye, sure and I would,” she replied teasingly. “‘Twas a good one, usin’ me ice brand like that.”

“Ah wus sure ye’d ‘prove,” he said with a laugh. “Now c’mon Bi Bi, time fer bed.”

* * *

“Liam darlin’, can you be helpin’ me out?” called Brigid from her room at the Rising Stones a moon later. Things had finally calmed enough for them to settle in one place for a bit, and they were all quite thankful for it.

William looked up from the last of his lunch, a little confused. But he shrugged and called back “Oan me way,” before shoving what was left of his sandwich into his mouth and made his way over to her room. “Aye, wha’ ye need?” he asked, words muffled as he opened the door…

…only to bite back a scream as a bucket full of water and ice fell on top of him, drenching him from head to toe, and he could swear he could feel it soak down to his smallclothes as Brigid giggled at him. He sighed even as he shivered, pushing his hair out of his face. “Really, Brigid?”

“Oh aye, really,” she said with a smile. “Be happy I was goin’ with water, Arthur was wantin’ me to be usin’ Molboro Green dye.”

William chuckled and took the towel she offered. “Whaur ye all teamin’ up then?”

She shrugged and turned to search through her pack for something he could change into. “Well, Llew was thinkin’ ‘twas all childish. Sammy was tryin’ to be gettin’ me to set your hair on fire.” He flinched at that, having forgotten how long and how strongly Sammy could hold a grudge. “So really ‘twas me, Connor, and Arthur.” She grinned as she handed him a shirt and trousers. “A classic, I was thinkin’.”

He took the clothes and shook his head. “Remind me tae nay let ye team up ‘gain.”

“Oh aye, next time be lettin’ us help you.” She flashed a grin. “After all, Alphinaud’s needin’ a few pranks to be bringin’ him down a few pegs.”


	7. Why Am I Needin' to Pick?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #6: Identification  
> This is the one that earns the archive warning. Bri is violent, y'all.

Fire was her friend. Opening her hand to reveal a fireball inside was one of her joys. Fire sang as she tossed it over her shoulder in battle, the blast of the explosion mimicking the beat of her heart. It was a choir as she spread her arms to release spreading waves and ripples, burning everything in her path. The crackle of dying embers was her lullaby.

_They say you dabble in dark magics, the sort that destroyed Mhach and caused the Sixth Umbral Calamity._

_Are they sayin’ that? Well, ‘tis interestin’ isnae it?_

The fire lit her way. It protected her family from wild animals and saved them from taking up space with flint and tinder. Her staff was her torch, glowing with a fire that did not burn. When she willed it her fire did not harm, only warmed and provided. It was her focus when she could not find her way otherwise. She could reach out and take some for herself, holding it close to her chest and ask it to take her hopes and prayers to the Twelve. The color of it touched her hair, highlighting the blood red mass with flame. It was as much part of her as the air she breathed.

_You black mages are quick to wield your destructive powers, but rarely do you consider the consequences._

_To be savin’ a life I’ll be callin’ on me “destructive powers” any day. Now be shuttin’ your gob, I’m nay havin’ time nor interest in you._

The ice came with the flame as she donned the robes of the thaumaturge. Truth be told she had little interest in the ice as it seeped into her chest and chilled her lungs, refreshing her magics but making the return to the flame slower than it should rightly be. Ice cut off her breath, making her dizzy with the aether and the lack of air. It weakened her, and she loathed it. She used it sparingly, only as much as was needed to allow the flame to flicker to life again. Because fire was life.

_Aye I’m the one they call “Jacke” — though I’m surprised ye’ve heard o’ me. Perhaps ye’d be good enough to tell me yer name… along with that o’ the kindly cove as told ye mine?_

The blade was her lover. It fit in her hand where the staff was always slightly off. She was La Noscean, the blade was in her blood as much as the sea and the fire. Where flame was her heartbeat the blade was what she danced to, darting in and out among her enemies and delighting in the carnage, the blood that covered her clothing and face. She sang as she fought, her voice raised in the joy of bloodshed the last thing many of her foes ever heard. She bathed in the spray of cut throats and called it Heaven.

She gloried in the up close and personal violence that was the rogue’s path. The scent of copper and iron in the air after a battle was the sweetest perfume. The sensation of sinking her blades into a flagging enemy’s skull was a thrill she found nowhere else. She reveled in the violence and found a place she fit far better than the staff and the flame had ever held her. Indeed there had been joy in the flames, feeling them lick at her skin without harm, joy in the sounds of the flames dying down to a comforting snap and fizzle, joy in the sheer power, but it had lacked something. Lacked the feeling of blood sliding over her hands, the sound of the death rattle or the screams being cut off abruptly. Lacked the singing of her own blood in her pointed ears, the sheer thrill of being in the thick of it, in the real danger.

Fire was ranged, fire asked for distance. Fire gave her strength but left her too vulnerable, too squishy. Fire was joy, but the blade was her ecstasy.

The flame gave her life, but she lived for and by the blade, as a true daughter of La Noscea did. She could call thunder with a blink of an eye (and she often forgot), throw fire as carelessly as Arthur threw paper, invoke a blizzard to outdo a Coerthan winter, but to her none of that could compare to the simple feeling of dancing amongst her corrupted soil, singing her praise to the Twelve as she cut down enough people to count as several armies. Perhaps it wasn’t as flashy as throwing literal fireballs or summoning an actual storm, but her ninjitsu allowed her to _breathe_ her fire, to bring down a solitary lightning bolt for precision strikes.

_I can tell your devotion to our art has been absolute, and I sense that greater power awaits you. But I have no new ninjutsu to teach. You alone can awaken to the power inside you. But if you do, our art will be in the very beating of your heart._

Soon enough she crafted her own skills, with blades that could stand the higher temperatures just in case, and soon struck out with daggers that blazed with her flame, snapped with thunder, and froze with ice. With each new skill she made for herself the more she realized that she had found her own path, as her guildmasters all had known. As she had long known in her heart, she only needed the time to discover it.

Friend and lover, life and heaven, joy and ecstasy. They all bled together, mingled into something new, something that fit her like a well made boot. Something that called to her heart. Something that was wholly hers.

_Are you a Ninja or Black Mage, Bri? I can’t tell anymore. ___

She smiled, sliding a blade against a whetstone with a sharp sound. _Simply bein’ a Ninja who’s usin’ black magic, love. Why am I needin’ to be one or the other when they’re both bein’ me?_


	8. Of Leaves and Loves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #7: Broken Leaf

Sammy bounced up onto the seat next to Llewellyn, head tilted in curiosity. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing at the stone Llewellyn was rubbing between fingers and thumb. “I don’t think I’ve seen it before.”

Llewellyn laughed and pulled Sammy into his lap, resting his cheek on Sammy’s head. “A charm Mum gave me,” he said softly, holding it in his palm for Sammy to see. Malachite, about half the size of an Elezen’s palm, with Nophica’s leaf carved into it… and a large crack going diagonally across it. He sighed softly, and Sammy cuddled back against him, trying to comfort his beloved. “I don’t know when it broke,” he continued, running his thumb over the crack. “I took it out to polish earlier and…” He sighed again, leaning a little more on Sammy.

“It’s still very pretty,” Sammy replied, knowing better than to touch it. Something special like that, and in such delicate condition, he’d hate himself forever if something happened to it just because he touched it. “The malachite fits your eyes.”

Llewellyn chuckled and Sammy smiled up at him, glad that he was able to bring a little bit of a smile and some happiness to his beloved. “It reminds me of her,” he murmured. “We all have one.” He paused for a long moment, but Sammy wasn’t worried. Llewellyn was a slow talker, had been since Sammy had known him, and according to his sister and brothers, always had been. “Mum and Da saved up every year before we turned thirteen to get each of us one.” He laughed softly and ran his thumb over the crack again. “Mum had them all planned out, so we were able to get one for Connor when his time came.” Sammy nodded, waiting for Llewellyn to continue. “It was tradition, she told us. A sign of growing up.” His shoulders fell and cuddled against Sammy. “It was the only thing of hers I took with me when I went to Gridania.”

Sammy looked at it again, pouting slightly at the crack in it. “Do you think you can fix it?” he asked quietly, even though he wasn’t sure that was possible. But what else could he do but hope? His new family had grown up with far better parents than he had ever hoped to have, and the sheer thought of his partner losing the only thing he had left of what he’d been told was a wonderful woman broke his heart.

Llewellyn sighed and leaned to the side to place the stone gently on his bedside table. “Likely not, no,” he said softly. “I’ll have to ask Araki if he can make a box for it before we move on.”

Sammy pouted and stood up on Llewellyn’s leg to press a kiss to his cheek. “I’m sorry,” he said, knowing that wasn’t nearly enough but it was he could think of to say. Llewellyn smiled sadly and wrapped his arms around Sammy, the Lalafell hugging back as tightly as he could. “I know you miss her.” He nearly started crying when Llewellyn buried his eyes in Sammy’s tiny shoulder and took a shuddering breath. He didn’t like it when the larger man was sad, Llewellyn was the strong one who could handle anything.

“Aye,” he said softly.

* * *

The next day Sammy tugged on Brigid’s pants leg, drawing the woman’s attention. “Bri! Can we talk?” She blinked down at him and tilted her head in confusion. “Alone?” Another blink but she nodded.

“How ‘bout you meet me under the leatherworkers’ guild?” she offered, ruffling Sammy’s hair fondly. He smiled and nodded happily, bouncing just a little on the balls of his feet.

Soon enough Sammy was sitting on a box with Bri standing next to him, legs crossed at the ankle and arms crossed over her chest. “So you’re wantin’ to be fixin’ Mum’s charm?” she asked, tilting her head.

Sammy nodded sadly, swinging his legs and looking down at the ground. “And you’re his sister, so I thought you might know who could.” He pouted and sighed. “I just want him happy again. He looked like his heart was as broken as the charm.” He looked back up at Brigid. “Maybe I could switch it out with yours until I can fix it?” he asked hopefully, but his smile fell as Brigid shook her head and pulled a stone out of her pocket… a _blue_ stone.

“Me own is lapis, I’m ‘fraid,” she said softly. “We were all gettin’ different stones. Connor’s is bein’ green tourmaline, Liam’s is azurite, and Arthur was gettin’ emerald. Nay like malachite ‘tall.” Sammy sighed sadly as Brigid brushed her thumb over the carved leaf. The leaf that was completely whole. “And… I’m nay sure you can be fixin’ malachite when ‘tis breakin’ like that.” She slid her stone back into her pocket. “But… I’m willin’ to be takin’ you to Ul’dah and talkin’ to Serenity, see if she can be makin’ a new one, if you’re nay wantin’ to be askin’ Feli to be doin’ it.”

“But…” Sammy bit his lip. “It won’t be the one he got from your mum.” He looked back down at the ground, sighing sadly. Suddenly a rock was slid in front of his face, and he stared at it before looking back up at Brigid, confused.

“‘Tis a raw high quality malachite,” she murmured. “Serenity’d be willin’ to be teachin’ you to be makin’ one to be replacin’ it.” She smiled softly at the drop Sammy’s jaw took. “He’d be lovin’ somethin’ from his husband as much as somethin’ from Mum.”

He blinked up at her, confused. “But… we’re not bonded.” Brigid pressed the stone into his hands and ruffled his hair again.

“Nay bonded _yet_. We’re all knowin’ ‘twill happen ‘ventually. But ‘tisnae the point. The charm’s bein’ based on love. ‘Tis all the power in it.”

Sammy smiled at her weakly. “So you’ve had one made for Thancred then?” he asked, laughing brightly at the face Brigid made and her awkward stuttering.

Soon enough Brigid huffed at him. “You keep gettin’ off point. I’m just goin’ to be takin’ you to Ul’dah now.”

* * *

A few weeks later, after they’d moved on from Gridania and onwards to Limsa Lominsa (prompting Brigid to disappear off to what was left of Halfstone for Twelve knew what) Sammy pulled himself up onto a chair next to Llewellyn, bouncing a little as he did. Llewellyn instinctively reached out to ruffle Sammy’s hair and smiled at him as Sammy snuggled up against him. “How was your trip to Ul’dah?” he asked absently, quill scratching at parchment as he wrote a letter to Kan-E-Senna.

“Really good!” he chirped before putting a small bag next to Llewellyn’s elbow. “I got this for you!” He grinned widely as Llewellyn smiled gently and placed the quill back into the inkwell before picking up the bag.

“Did you now?” he asked, pulling away the ribbon and opening the bag. He leaned over to kiss Sammy gently. “Thank you lamb,” he said quietly before looking inside. His eyes widened slightly and he was quiet for a long moment before tipping the bag open, letting a near-perfect replica of the charm his mother had gifted him so many years ago fall into his hand. Sammy was only a little antsy as he waited for Llewellyn to speak. Instead Llewellyn pulled him into a tight hug, clearly holding back tears. Sammy awkwardly patted him on the back, making a questioning noise. After a long moment like that Llewellyn finally pulled back, eyes shining. “Thank ye lamb,” he said again, voice choked with emotion and falling back into the accent Sammy knew he had nearly scrubbed away over the years. “‘Tis beautiful.”

“Turn it over,” he said quietly, a small smile on his face as Llewellyn nodded and did just that, revealing the wheel of the Spinner on the other side. The Elezen let out a breathless laugh and smiled down at it, wiping away a tear.

“I was wrong,” he murmured. “It’s perfect.”

Emboldened, Sammy pulled back and bounced excitedly on the chair. “Good! The guildmaster helped with the carvings, and even her mammet liked it!” In the way that GiGi liked anything, Sammy thought to himself. “And she said she knew a way she could strengthen the one your mum gave you enough to set it into a necklace if you wanted!”

Llewellyn nodded, wiping away another tear. “You made it yourself then,” he said, smiling as Sammy nodded.

“Bri gave me the raw stone, but I polished it and did most of the carving on my own! Because Bri said the important part was the love in it.” He snuggled up against Llewellyn again, laughing. “And I love the big Elezen white mage that saved me.”

Llewellyn leaned down to kiss him again, grinning widely now. “And I love you. The perfect Lalafell who saved himself and allowed me to help him.”

A few moons later Llewellyn had a gift for Sammy as well: a piece of tiger’s eye the size of a Lalafell’s palm with Nophica’s leaf engraved on it, and the original charm, now broken in half and each half set in gold on a gold chain.


	9. Light and Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #8: Shadow

He was the baby. That was almost all he ever heard. Connor’s the baby of the family, he’s the little one that has to be protected at all costs. Never mind that he was the youngest of them all (Stupid Sammy being a couple years older than him) and was one of the two tanks. He was even the first one they’d had when they were forming the party. Not that it stopped Bri or Arthur from pulling the enemies from him. Bri tried to convince him that it was something that just _happened_ with her sort of magic. Arthur told it to him straight, that paladin was _not_ good at keeping the attention.

At least he was kind enough not to tell Connor it was _him_ that was the problem and not the job.

He was so tired of being tucked away by everyone. Llewellyn didn’t do it as much as the others, probably because he was more focused on Sammy and keeping him safe. Even Will did it, and he didn’t even fight! It was even worse when the rest of the party were doing it. Sammy didn’t, probably because he understood the feeling, but he _hated_ it when it was one of the Ryuzaki twins. Matsu was the worst, because no matter how well meaning he was, it just… felt like pity. Araki treated him like Matsu did, like he was too soft. He never thought another tank would treat him like that, and yet there it was.

He would be the first to admit that he had been an angry child. Why wouldn’t he be when his mother died when he was almost too young to remember her, leaving him with three older brothers, one older sister who insisted on trying to be their mother, and a father who seemed to simply not care about anything anymore and would often take the first opportunity to get away from his children for as long as possible? He hated it, hated every moment of it and he felt he was completely justified in it. Completely justified in resenting his sister, justified in abjectly _hating_ their father, and utterly justified in missing their mother so much it hurt.

He fought for them of course. He couldn’t leave his family behind, and the whole party had quickly become family. Sammy was practically bonded with Llewellyn, Arthur had, in his hot and cold way, taken up with both Araki and Matsu, and Feli was the adopted brother. Or something. He couldn’t leave them even though Araki had to take up the slack, quickly displacing him as main tank. Llewellyn murmured about how he was thankful for it, Connor would be hurt less that way, and Connor knew a scolding from his eldest brother when he heard it. Even if Llewellyn didn’t mean it as scolding.

He loved them, he did. Even if it didn’t always seem like it. Even when they called him the baby. He took on the white armor of the paladin not because he wanted the attention of every single enemy, but the attention of the party. He would be their shield, protect them instead of protecting him. He wore the white armor to show them he was there, he would be in front of them when they needed him, so that they would never lose track of him.

Until they had to run and he could do nothing to save any of them, when his protection failed. The white armor meant nothing now. He was little more than a handyman, an errand boy, doing small tasks for people who _damn well_ could do things for themselves, they simply wanted to be _lazy_ and let a passing by adventurer do it. He didn’t leave La Noscea all the way to Ul’dah just to save coeurls from rooftops for a woman who was too _stupid_ to realize her “kitten” would likely eat her later.

In a land so bereft of hope he could scarcely be hope for anyone. They didn’t need paladins here. In a snowy land all the white armor would do would be make him blend in, leave his party lost and confused. They could not rally behind what they could not see. He felt more like Brigid, a rouge striking from the shadows instead of a bright light on the battlefield breaking up the larger mobs so that the others could defeat them. This was not his job, having to hide like he was. This was not what his shield was for.

He resented his sister, but he resented the tears she shed even more, because they should not have been shed at all. He resented the Ishgardians. He resented Alphinaud the most, because this was all his fault. Everything that led them to needing to take refuge in _Ishgard_ of all places, even if it was with Haurchefant’s family — and he soon found himself resenting a woman long dead on top of everything else.

He couldn’t stay there, in that house with his family, with Haurchefant’s family. He found himself walking the Pillars one night, keeping to the shadows lest his armor draw attention to him. He heard the cheering near the Supreme Sacred Tribunal of Halonic Inquisitory Doctrine — a more pompous and needlessly wordy name he had yet to discover — and went to investigate. A heretic was dead, they said, and they had dumped his body in the Brume. Knowing how broad the definition of a heretic was to these people, it didn’t sit right with Connor, and he went to investigate. Maybe there was still time to help the man. He could at least see to his wounds before fetching Llewellyn… and if there wasn’t, he could at least pay his respects and see that he be treated with dignity.

_I've been waiting for you to open your eyes. You all right? You were moaning in your sleep and sweating buckets besides. Name's Fray, by the way._

Fray claimed he’d passed out when he touched what Connor recognized as a soul crystal. He wasn’t a heretic, which Connor had already suspected anyway. Before they could discuss anything any further — did he need healing, for example? They were quite certain he was dead after all — he heard a scream. He mentally sighed and attempted to turn in that direction, but Fray blocked his way.

_Not so fast. We need to talk about what's happening to you─what's growing within you, before you get carried away. There's a darkness within us all─nothing dangerous, mind. In fact, it's quite healthy._

“I don’t have time for this! That woman, I have to help her!”

_Ask me to instruct you in the ways of the dark knights, and I will. I know you're still worried about that screaming woman, so I'll keep this brief._

“Dark knights? What are you talking about?” Connor was confused, and truth be told he was starting to get a headache. Fray explained, they cared not one whit about pedigree, authority, _names_. They saw what needed to be done, what needed to be avenged, and by the Twelve they _did_ it.

_We have no need of shields figurative or literal. Here─my blade is your blade, my soul crystal your crystal. Go on, take them. You'll need them soon enough._

Fray held out his sword and Connor stared at it for a long moment. And in that moment, he realized that _yes_ , this was what he wanted. What he needed to do. Cast off the light, join the dark. Take to the shadows in his own way. Embrace those shadows that swirled in his heart and mind. He nodded and took the sword in his hands, and the weight of it, the power it held within, fit him perfectly. Like how Brigid must have felt the moment she took the blades of the rogue, when Llewellyn hefted the cane of the white mage.

He took the crystal as well, and he laughed darkly as he felt the crystal become part of him, imbuing him with powers that swam along his veins, feeding on that shadow in his heart, all that hate and resentment and pain and everything dark he felt. He turned his gaze on Fray, and anyone watching would swear that both men’s eyes glowed red in the dark.

_Well, well, don't you look the part._


	10. "Be Safe." | "I Miss You."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #9: Linkpearl

It was such a small thing, she thought as she held the white ball in her fingertips. She never thought she’d be lucky enough to even see a linkpearl before Minfilia had given her one. They were so much gil, after all, and they’d barely had enough to get Connor his stone so soon after the Calamity. So small, and yet she could talk to anyone she liked, so long as they had one of their own and she was connected to them.

It beeped suddenly, startling her enough to nearly drop it, and also to nearly fall out of her chair. She stared at it a moment before pulling back her hair and tucking it into her ear. “Hello?”

“Still working out how these work, I take it?” came a teasing voice through the static, and she laughed softly before settling back into her seat.

“Thancred,” she said warmly, remembering how he’d said she should use his forename. “Aye, ‘tis a whole new thing to me. Nay havin’ any sort of head for how ‘tis workin’, other than ‘aether’.” He laughed and she did as well. “‘Tis always havin’ this much static?” she asked, wincing a little at a sharp whine from the ‘pearl.

“I’m afraid so. I’ve learned it gets worse when the sending and receiving linkpearls are farther apart. Keep conversations short in La Noscea, lest you want a headache.”

She sighed and rubbed her forehead. “And ‘course ‘tis home,” she grumbled. She smiled then, eyes twinkling. “Though supposin’ we’ll just have to be stayin’ close then, so we’ll be able to be talkin’ with minimal fuss.”

“A fine idea! A shame though that there are already plans to foil that.”

She sighed again. “Please be tellin’ me you’re nay sendin’ me to La Noscea.”

“No, you’ll stay on the mainland for this one. You’re needed in Gridania. The Adders have a job for you.”

“I’m nay goin’ back into Tam Tara,” she objected sharply. At the answering chuckle she stood and frowned. “‘Tisnae funny, ‘twas a right mess in there and I’m nay wantin’ to be clearin’ it out ‘gain.” He laughed more and she outright pouted. “You werenae down there, dealin’ with all sorts of matters. Rather be facin’ a primal ‘fore that.”

“You’ll do that soon enough, I’m afraid,” he said, and his voice took on a more serious tone. It was a dramatic enough shift that she sat back down.

“I’ll be fine,” she murmured, knowing they were already becoming friends, and perhaps could become close ones. “I’ll just be freezin’ whatever ‘tis, then someone can be hittin’ it. Boom.” She made an explosion gesture with her free hand and instantly felt silly for it. “Shatterin’ them easily.” She sighed softly. “Promisin’, I’m havin’ it in me hand.”

He was quiet for a moment, long enough to make her wonder if he was still there and even about to ask the same, when he finally replied. “Very well.” Another pause, as if he was considering his words. “Be safe.”

She laughed softly, trying to lighten his mood. “‘Course I will, cannae be lettin’ the last time we’re talkin’ be through ‘pearl, after all.”

* * *

“I miss you,” she murmured, leaning back against a pile of pillows, sighing softly and closing her eyes.

_And I miss you,_ he replied, and she thought she could hear the longing in his voice even over the long malms. _Are you well?_

She laughed softly and only a little choked up. “Well as can be, bein’ stuck in Ishgard without you. Llewellyn’s bein’ a hovery thing, like a hummingbird over a flower.” She sighed again, shifting slightly to rub at her back. “Are you bein’ alright?”

_Right as rain, my lady. Y’Shtola and I are just cleaning up some loose ends here, should have your names cleared completely within the fortnight._

Brigid smiled and leaned back again, settling her feet fully on the bed and ignoring how they’d started to ache. “So _long_ , darlin’. Cannae you be speedin’ things up a wee bit? You’re nay plannin’ a murder without me are you?”

_And risk your murdering me? Perish the thought!_ They both laughed and Brigid relaxed, content to hear him again. _Are you truly well, Spitfire?_ he asked again, voice going soft, and Brigid couldn’t help the tears that sprang to her eyes.

“I miss you,” she whispered. “So very much. Near on a year you’ve been gone, and I cannae see you.” He was silent and she pulled a handkerchief out of a pocket to dab at her eyes. “Stuck hidin’ here in _Ishgard_ of all places. Me whole body aches, and the chill’s nay helpin’. Cannae sleep ‘cause me bed’s empty and cold.” She bit back a sob and covered her eyes with a hand. “‘M wantin’ me _Miodóg_ back.” She felt pathetic, weak, nothing like the strong Warrior of Light she was. It would make him worry, and she wasn’t supposed to make people she loved worry. Her breath hitched on the inhale as she breathed deeply. “Sorry, honest and true,” she murmured finally, when he’d been quiet too long. “Shouldnae be unloadin’ on you like that.”

_I should be there,_ was his reply, and he sounded like he was gritting his teeth as he spoke. _You shouldn’t be alone right now. I don’t mean your family,_ he interjected before she could speak. _I know William’s doing his duty by you…_

“But he’s nay bein’ you,” she finished, sniffling and wiping away her tears. She sighed and shifted where she was sitting up in bed. She was going to continue but was cut off by a soft gasp.

_Spitfire?_

She laughed weakly and rubbed at the mound of her belly. “‘Tis just the babe,” she said softly. “They’re wantin’ you here too.”

He paused for a long time, long enough for Brigid to worry, before he spoke again. _You’re close, aren’t you?_

She hummed in thought. “Llew’s thinkin’ another moon, aye. Hard to be datin’ when we’re nay sure when…” She trailed off. “I’m knowin’ they’re nay bein’ yours but…”

_It doesn’t matter,_ he said instantly, and she felt her shoulders come down from around her ears where they’d tightened from stress. _I can’t wait to meet them._

Brigid smiled and rubbed her belly when she felt another kick. “Cannae wait for you to be meetin’ them too.”

_Y’Shtola’s calling me,_ he said after a moment. _Stay safe, both of you._ He paused again, then breathed out a laugh. _I love you._

She sobbed and curled up on her side, being careful of her belly. “I love you too,” she whispered to a linkpearl that hadn’t activated in almost a year and would likely never activate again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Miodóg translates to dagger.


	11. By the Flat of Her Palm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #10: Slap

Generally Brigid did not want to slap people. No, generally she wanted to stab them or set them on fire and move on with her life. It was easier, and certainly more final. Few people behaved poorly after such treatment after all.

But oh, oh sometimes she just wanted to _slap_ someone.

Alphinaud, for example, when they first met. And after they fled Ul’dah. In fact, for the majority of their association Brigid wanted _so badly_ to slap him. He was a terrible, snobby little child who was too full of himself and had too many words that he thought everyone needed to hear. Not only did no one need to hear them (do hush Araki), no one _wanted_ to hear them. Not that he was able to pick up on such things.

She came so close, _so very close_ to slapping him the first time when he simply _strode_ into the Church of Saint Adama Landama after Brigid and the others had needed to _bury_ what was left of the Scions, ignoring that all of them were strung out and exhausted, and that poor Sammy had yet to stop crying, curled up in Llewellyn’s lap, and simply _demanded_ that they all get up _right now_ and find an airship _right now_. Rest? Why should you need to rest? And then he started in on poor sweet Marques.

That was when Brigid stood, pulling the cuff of her sleeve up over her hand and nearly marched over to the little brat when Matsu caught her arm. “Don’t,” he said softly, and she turned on him, eyes flashing. He shook his head as he closed his eyes. “He isn’t worth it.” 

She growled and pulled her arm from him, but sat back down. “If he’s bunglin’ stuff ‘gain, I’m goin’ to be doin’ it.” 

As misfortune would have it, Alphinaud bungled matters quite often, but rarely when Brigid could slap him or be justified in doing so. 

Until they had to flee Ul’dah. Until they were settled in Camp Dragonhead and under Haurchefant’s care. Until he was wallowing in his pity, about how _he_ was affected by this, how _he_ failed. 

How _he_ failed?! For all Brigid knew at this exact moment, Thancred and the others could be captured or in fact _dead_ , and all he could think about was how _he_ failed?! How _dare_ he?! They had just lost almost _everything_! 

She was so close. She was beside him. She had her hand ready, she was about to pull back to get _just the right momentum_ , and… Llewellyn caught her arm this time. She turned to him, eyes shining with tears, and he shook his head. “Feli would never forgive you,” he whispered, and opened his arms to hold her when her tears overflowed and she could do nothing else but sob until her lungs ached. 

Alphinaud wasn’t the only one, there were plenty of others she wished she could slap as well. For example, nearly the whole of Ishgard. She understood worship, she understood dedication to the Twelve, understood devotion, but this… this was devotion on a _frightening_ scale. It smacked of mind control, but did not leave the residual feeling in the aether that such things did. No, this was simply indoctrination, pure and simple. And she knew, she knew she couldn’t blame people who grew up knowing nothing else, but there were enough people, Haurchefant, Count Edmont de Fortemps, Lord Francel de Haillenarte, Ser Aymeric de Borel, and others that could look beyond this fanatical devotion, could see the damage such things were doing to the people. They weren’t many, but they were _enough_ that she knew others could reach the same conclusions. They only needed a little… help. 

“Brigid, you can’t slap an entire city,” Arthur said calmly as he sipped his tea with one of his carbuncles at his elbow. The Ruby pawed at his hand, ears raising in excitement as he passed her a biscuit. She quickly swallowed it down, rumbling softly. He absently petted her, attention focused on the book he was reading. 

“Nay with an attitude like that,” she shot back, looking over her various staffs. “And nay ‘lone.” She smiled and picked one with a large ball on the top end, with a small one on the other. “Ah, perfect. Thinkin’ I’ll be startin’ with the head of House Dzemael.” 

There was a clattering of china. “Brigid _no_!” 

No, perhaps not the whole city, she decided later. Perhaps one or two. “Lord” Emmanellain de Fortemps seemed like a good place to start, until she realized that she’d rather push him off one of the islands of Camp Cloudtop. Best to steer clear of that pompous little brat and focus on others that she less wanted to kill. 

There was also Estinien Wrymblood. Matsu had something against the man, and Matsu rarely held a grudge. That would have been more than enough for Brigid, but the man seemed bound and determined to undermine their quest for parley with the great dragon Hraesvelgr, and on top of _that_? Brigid had learned many things in life, and one of those was to never trust a man who desired to kill Moogles. 

But he did seem to be improving, just a little and quite slowly. By that night by the fire near Zenith Brigid even thought he was starting to come around, to someone she could respect. Until she heard him repeating the same tired old words he had started the trip with. She wasn’t sure she was more angry or resigned as she attempted to stand. She grumbled in annoyance at her heavy belly but was relieved when Ysayle came over to help her. 

“Where are you going?” she asked quietly, one hand at Brigid’s hip and the other on her shoulder. 

“To slap the stupid dragoon,” she grumbled, and huffed out a breath when Ysayle tightened her grip. 

“While I do not disagree, I do not think he would care about your current condition and promptly strike you in return,” she scolded lightly and brought Brigid back to her seat. 

Brigid frowned and crossed her arms over her belly, only a little ashamed of herself. “Aye,” she murmured, then looked up. “Connor darlin’?” 

“Aye?” came a sullen teenage voice. 

“Be slappin’ the stupid dragoon for me.” 

“Aye ma’am!” 

“CONNOR NO!” 

* * *

The loud crack of skin against skin echoed through the hall of House Fortemps manor, and to his credit Emmanellain only stumbled a little and didn’t fall to the floor as she expected. He didn’t even place his hand on it or check his jaw, which nearly gained him a sixteenth of an ilm of respect from her. 

“W-what did you do that for?!” he practically demanded, a mark the size of her hand quickly blooming on his cheek to match the darker, larger fist sized one on the other side. 

“‘Cause you’re still deservin’ a slap,” she replied and walked off as though nothing else needed to be said. 


	12. A Dark Knight's Justice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #11: Mercy vs Justice

_To mete out justice─to protect the weak from the strong and so forth─you yourself must be strong._

Connor knew what justice was, had known it since he was a child, but it was still gratifying to hear it echoed back to him. The strong were meant to protect the weak, not exploit them. Unfortunately he had found that the opposite had run rampant over Eorzea. Slavers in La Noscea, the unfeeling Twelveswood and those that listened to orders to exile _children_ from the Shroud, the Brass Blades in Ul’dah. The theocracy of Ishgard. There was no justice to be found for the victims of these institutions, not unless he was the one to mete it out.

He wished he had discovered the path of the Dark Knight sooner. To be free of the fetters of law, of anyone’s ethics or morality but his own and create a world of his choosing was liberating. If he decided something needed to be done he simply _did it_ now. Why had this never occurred to him before?

He heard his sister’s stories of the slavers they missed as she worked with Jacke, and he went out and put them down. He didn’t ask her permission, he didn’t even think of speaking with Admiral Merlwyb before hunting them down.

The image of the girls in Sastasha would never leave him and he _refused_ to let anyone experience their fate ever again.

He wasn’t sure how to bring justice to a forest that thought itself important enough to be able to decide that _children_ could be forced to leave. He remembered Llewellyn talking about the poor girl, barely twelve summers old, that he had seen outside the Conjurers’ Guild before Connor made his way to Ul’dah. It bordered on evil, if not crossing that border completely, and he would not see it stand. He simply had to bide his time and create a proper plan.

Dealing with the Brass Blades was easier. Find them in the middle of some underhanded thing and either threaten them or kill them outright. There were sadly enough in Ul’dah that he doubted he would ever have a chance to clean his sword, and there were too many who thought harassing Ala Mihgan refugees was an acceptable thing to do. He cut them down, refusing to listen to any of their half-assed justifications. There _were_ no justifications, and he would not entertain anyone who thought they could trick him by claiming such.

The same could be said of the Ishgardian theocracy. Their absurdly broad definition of heretic, their frightening readiness to cut down anyone they deemed a threat, their adherence to outdated tradition… But here, under the protection of the Fortemps family, he had to be careful. Subtle. Mete out his justice in the Brume, against low ranking priests, people he very much doubted even the Holy See would notice missing. He avoided Camp Dragonhead, out of respect for Haurchefant’s methods and the fact that his people seemed to actually _behave_ themselves. The visitors were the problem, but Haurchefant seemed to straighten them up right quick. Skyfire Locks under Lord Francel seemed the same, and he avoided them as well, except to sometimes visit the young man. He was a fine lord, and seemed to understand the pain of being “the baby.”

(What Connor _really_ wanted to do was bring the Archbishop low, for reasons he did not understand yet. He only knew that Thordan was tainted in some way, that Aymeric would be better off without his father holding him back. But killing the Archbishop did not suit their plans, not yet, and clearing their names, returning to normal, keeping the world safe was a higher form of justice than removing an irritating old man from the playing board.)

One night he strode along the Jeweled Crozier, in search of ingredients for button mushroom saute for his sister. He was short on sagolii sage when he heard shouting and falling crockery at the other end of the marketplace. He quickly dashed to the source of the outburst, ready to continue meting out justice.

What he found was a small child, no older than ten, body wrapped tight around a bottle, containing Connor knew not what, but it was clearly important enough to guard with his life. The apothecary, clearly the man who had just been stolen from, was berating the young boy in language that Connor found far more vile than was required for a thief, no matter their age.

“Hold,” he said firmly, holding his hand up to the man. “What has happened here?”

The man blinked in surprise for a moment, and drew his shoulders up, as though he expected to find support in the youngest Warrior of Light. “This _hooligan_ broke into my private storeroom and attempted to make off with my last stores of rubycress root, ser. I expect he plans to sell it on the black market, but now that you’re here I’m sure you’ll bring him to justice.”

Rubycress root. Connor had heard of that, Brigid and Llewellyn both lamenting at how difficult the plant was to find and how important it was for them to do so. Turning to the child he knelt down, looking him in the eye. “What do you have to say?” he asked quietly, acutely aware of how _young_ the boy was when he looked up at Connor. If the boy remembered a world without snow Connor would be amazed.

“I-it’s my mum,” he said quietly, holding the jar of rubycress root tight to his chest, and Connor felt his heart drop. “She’s got the red throat, and we can’t afford treatment! The chirurgeons won’t come near any of us in the Brume, so we have to fend for ourselves!” The boy stared at Connor a moment, then belatedly added “Ser.”

Connor nodded. “A just cause,” he murmured, ignoring the smug expression on the apothecary’s face quickly going slack in shock. “I can help you, if you’ll accept it.”

_...I'm beginning to question your commitment, Connor._

Connor ignored Fray as he helped the child up. “Go to House Fortemps, tell them Connor sent you and ask for Llewellyn.” He said the name slowly, so that the child would have minimal difficulties with his elder brother’s name. “Tell him what you told me.” He smiled softly. “I doubt you’ll have to ask for his help once he hears the words ‘red throat.’ He’ll take good care of your mum and anyone else afflicted.” The boy nodded and smiled weakly. “I’ll handle him,” he said with a jerk of his head to the apothecary. “Run along now.”

“Thank you ser!” chirped the boy as he dashed away, only sliding a little on the snow covered stones in his haste. Connor watched him until he was out of sight before turning to the apothecary, who now looked upon him nervously, suddenly unsure of his standing with the Warrior of Light.

“What’s the current market value of rubycress root? One hundred gil per onze?” As the man nodded Connor untied his purse from his belt. “I’m willing to say the boy ran off with four onzes, so here’s four hundred gil.” He pressed the coin into the man’s hand, glaring at him. “I suggest you accept it,” he all but growled, and the man nodded, wide-eyed. “Good. I _also_ suggest you not treat a child in such a way again, or you _will_ hear from me again.” He chuckled darkly. “Unless you wish to learn that Brigid is not the only horrifically violent Warrior of Light.”

“No, ser! I’ll do as you so kindly suggest, ser!”

“Good. Then justice has been served.” He turned on his heel and waved at the man dismissively. “Be on your way.”

_You know I'm trying to help you, don't you? All of this is for your benefit._

Connor looked over at Fray coolly. “Justice is worthless without mercy. Mercy must be handed out in equal measure to those who need it.” He frowned slightly. “A child of ten with a sick mother and no other way to tend to her but to resort to theft needs more mercy than even I am capable of giving.”

_You're the stubborn type. I know that. We'll just have to keep at it until you open your eyes._

Connor’s eyes were open enough, he thought. He saw where justice needed to be delivered, but he also knew where mercy was a too rare balm for a weary soul. As much as he valued justice, mercy was needed more. While he could never deliver mercy enough to soothe the world, he knew it was work he was not free to abandon.


	13. A Fool's Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #12: Caste  
> Warning: This chapter features racial based violence against a Duskwight Elezen.

Brigid hadn’t seen many Duskwight Elezen in her life. She knew they existed, obviously, who didn’t? But considering how rare Wildwood Elezen like herself were in La Noscea (Sun Seeker Miqo’te, Sea Wolf Roegadyn, and Midlander Hyur, like their father, were the majority of the population), it was no surprise that it took her becoming an adventurer to even see the other side of the Elezen coin, so to speak.

It was one of her early trips to Gridania, and she decided to take a rest at Buscarron's Druthers, perhaps get an idea of the goings on in the area. She’d heard more than enough about the alleged “Palace of the Dead” in Quarrymill and had no intention of ever setting foot in that place. She even had a passing hope that others would follow her example so that Quarrymill would empty out a wee bit. How a place that small held so many adventurers, ignoring that so many adventurers even existed, she would never know. And part of her was very content never knowing.

It was supposed to be a simple visit. Drop in, get a pint of beer, make herself known as an adventurer and Llewellyn O’Donnell’s sister, and find out what the news around the South Shroud was. She would deal with anything she came across that needed handling and no one seemed to be willing to deal with themselves and then make her way back to Old Gridania and the Conjurers’ Guild to visit her brother. Unfortunately, somewhere between “find out the news” and “deal with said news,” all the plans fell apart.

She could hear a commotion coming from outside the tavern, but as such things were common in the Shroud she chose to ignore it. She continued to chat with the others in the tavern, making notes of various odd jobs she could do, until someone passed through the door and sat next to her.

“Missing a great show,” said the Wildwood Elezen after he ordered a beer for himself. “Bunch of Wood Wailers beating up on a Duskwight.”

Brigid didn’t show any reaction to the declaration other than to flick her eyes over in the Wildwood’s direction. “Are they?” she asked mildly. “Was the Duskwight doin’ anythin’ to be deservin’ it? Were they stealin’ somethin’, or tryin’ to be hurtin’ someone?”

The Wildwood stared at her a long moment before laughing brightly. “Why? Isn’t being Duskwight enough?”

This time she frowned, dropping a handful of gil on the bar, enough to cover her tab. “Nay, ‘tisnae and you’re bein’ a right horrible person to be thinkin’ so.” Ignoring the sputtering from the Wildwood she attached her daggers to her belt and strode out the door, blinking only a little against the sudden sunlight after the darkened room.

Sure enough there was a trio of Wood Wailer lancers keeping a Duskwight Elezen caged among them, all but pinned to the ground with kicks. A few people were assembled in a circle around them, some watching warily, but far too many were watching with enjoyment clear on their faces. Well, this certainly could not stand.

She walked up to one of them and tapped them on the shoulder. “Aye, pardon me, but ‘tis there bein’ a reason ‘yond this poor…” Bri glanced over for a moment, “…poor lass bein’ Duskwight for your beatin’ on her?” She crossed her arms and shifted her weight to her right foot and waited for a response.

The Wailer glanced at her for a moment, clearly sizing her up. “Why? Got a problem with how we maintain order, adventurer?”

“Aye, matter of fact I do.” She moved just enough to pat one of the knives at her hip. “Now, are you needin’ me to be drivin’ the point home, or are you goin’ to be lettin’ the poor lass go?”

There was a long stare down, all four daring one of the others to blink first. Unfortunately for them, they didn’t realize Brigid had years long practice with younger brothers and was quite skilled at staring someone down until they did what they were told. Finally one of the Wailers stepped back and cleared his throat.

“Ah, ser? I think she means business. She’s got that sort of look in her eye.” Brigid frowned and drummed her fingers on her knife again, on the last tap tightening her hand around it. The Wailer swallowed nervously. “And the sort of knife.”

“Come now man, she’s just some adventurer, fresh out of the Adventurers' Guild from the looks of things!” said the third one, though to Brigid’s ear he didn’t sound convinced of that fact. Brigid raised an eyebrow and pulled the knife from the sheathe, other hand resting on the other.

“Are you willin’ to be testin’ that thought?” she asked calmly, eyes locked with him. “Thinkin’ I could be takin’ those lances from you without much trouble.” The apparent leader of the group all but growled at her, and she simply looked at him as if he was less than the dirt on her boots. “Lad, you’re startin’ to bore me. Just be lettin’ the lass go, and I’ll be lettin’ you keep all your fingers, ‘tis a good ‘nough compromise to you?”

He stared at her again, this time eyes narrowed. The second Wailer watched them for a moment, before jerking back in surprise. “Ser? I… I think she’s Healer Llewellyn’s little sister.” Brigid only smiled, slow and dark. “I know those eyes.”

“Aye, and me brother would be havin’ _Words_ with anyone bein’ fool ‘nough to be hurtin’ me.” A small laugh. “Promisin’ you, you’re wantin’ to be dealin’ with me more than him.”

Another stare down commenced between Brigid and the lead Wailer, but now the other two seemed antsy about it. Brigid’s other hand slowly pulled the knife out and she raised an eyebrow.

Finally the lead Wailer scoffed, waving a hand at her. “You’re not worth the trouble,” he grumbled. He gestured to his men, both of whom quickly snapped to attention. “Let’s go, I’m sure there’s work for us at Camp Tranquil.”

“Oh aye, nay worth the trouble to a group of _cowards_!” Brigid shot at them as they walked off, one last parting shot for her pride. She huffed to herself as she sheathed her weapons, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Wishin’ they’d been challengin’ me, be puttin’ a better warnin’ out there than them bein’ scared of me brother.” She shook her head and glanced around for the Duskwight, who was now sitting on the ground (and couldn’t have been older than sixteen summers _Twelve_ ), staring up at her. Surprised that she hadn’t scurried away during the confrontation, she knelt down, realizing she needed to treat her as a skittish kitten. No sense in scaring the poor girl more than she already was, after all. “You alright lass? If you’re needin’ healin’ I can be ‘scortin’ you back to Old Gridania.”

The girl stared at her (and Brigid was starting to get very tired of all the staring, to be honest), eyes wide and confused. “W-why?”

She held back a sigh. “‘Cause you’re nay deservin’ to be hurt just ‘cause you’re bein’ Duskwight.”

“But you’re Wildwood.”

“And nay from Gridania. Nay as though ‘tis matterin’, ‘course. You’ve nay done anythin’ wrong, and the folks findin’ joy in your sufferin’ are havin’ somethin’ very wrong with them.” The last words were said louder as she looked around at the crowd, most of which took the hint and began to disperse. “Are you needin’ any help?” she asked again, hand out to her this time.

“N-no!” she finally spat, but didn’t knock Brigid’s hand away. “You did enough, now leave me alone!”

Brigid nodded, withdrawing her hand and nodding. “Aye, alright. Safe travels.” With that she stood and set off on her way back to Quarrymill. There wasn’t any sense in going onward to Camp Tranquil if those idiotic Wood Wailers were going to be there, and she certainly had no interest in dealing with them again. If she found them accosting an innocent person again, then she’d deal with them. For now, however, she’d rather deal with the kedtraps that seemed more determined than Bahamut himself to wipe out all of Eorzea. It was a wonder those creatures had never made any significant headway into Thanalan with their killing spree.

It was a shame though, that people felt that treating others poorly for no crime other than their birth or living circumstances was an acceptable thing. Perhaps, being an adventurer, she could work against such thinking, change some people, protect others. It was a nice hope.

She only hoped it wasn’t a fool’s hope.


	14. Healing the Wounded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #13: Wounded Animal

Llewellyn had always been a sensitive soul. Healing had always been as natural as breathing to him. Brigitte O’Donnell had been a bard by trade, Hereward O’Donnell was a sailor and Jack of All Trades (and suspected to have ties to the Sisters, though they had never proven it), and it wasn’t a combination that most would expect to produce a quiet, watchful child.

They had been concerned at first when he took so long to talk. Brigitte hadn’t expected that her first born would take after her as a bard, but she did have hope. Hereward tried to reassure her, that some children just took some time, and even if he never did talk that would be okay too. They would adjust.

He certainly seemed happy enough, and would point out the things he wanted with a smile and never shied from showing affection. Never was there before nor would there ever be again a child made of such sunshine as Llewellyn, they decided. Always happy, always sweet, always loving.

Until the day he came running up the beach crying and with his hands cupped together. Brigitte ran over to him and knelt down, checking him over closely with an edge of franticness to it. She only pulled back when he shook his head insistently and held his hands up in her face. Slowly she pulled his hands apart to reveal a starfish that was missing a leg. Brigitte sighed in relief and ruffled his hair. “Put him back in the water, love. Starfish heal on their own,” she told him, and her heart broke a little at how big Llewellyn’s eyes went in fear and how his lower lip started to wobble again. “I promise. Here, we’ll put him back in the water together. We’ll find a tide pool and you can watch him heal.” Llewellyn’s lip wobbled again but he followed her down to the shore and found a suitable tide pool. Sure enough slowly but surely he watched the starfish regrow the missing leg with a smile.

What Brigitte didn’t realize was that this was not to be the end of Llewellyn bringing home wounded creatures.

A sennight later he brought home a bird with a broken wing. He simply held it up to his mother with wide, pleading eyes. She sighed and brought him into the house to show him how to set the wing and feed the bird properly to help it heal. He watched carefully as she smoothed the feathers down and made a splint for it, humming softly as she did.

A moon later he brought in a mandragora with torn leaves and a broken stem. Brigitte, starting to show with his future twin siblings, sighed to herself. “We can’t help everything little one,” she said softly.

“But it’s hurt,” he said softly, so soft that Brigitte wasn’t sure she heard him. “We have to.”

Her jaw dropped a moment and her eyes went wide. “You spoke,” she said softly, kneeling at his level and ignoring the mandragora now. “You finally spoke.”

Llewellyn nodded and sniffled. “Can we help it?” he asked again, not realizing how much he had surprised his poor mother with his suddenly talking.

She laughed softly and wiped at her face where a few relieved tears were making their way down. “We’ll certainly try,” she relented, ruffling his hair and leading him and the mandragora inside. She didn’t quite know what to do for a seedkin, but she would try her hardest for her sweet sunshine boy.

His first words had been to ask for help for something that wasn’t himself, for something that was hurt and he wanted to help, and he continued to focus on others, on helping them. He quickly became an amazing older brother, looking after all of his siblings as they came along, ensuring they were safe and healthy. He continued to bring in wounded creatures, but he soon started taking care of them on his own, keeping them in a small house that Hereward built for him.

(Brigitte put her foot down when he tried to bring home a Large Buffalo. He pouted and cried, but she remained firm: Nothing bigger than an aldgoat.)

It would come as no surprise really when he set out for Gridania a couple of years after their mother’s death to join the Conjurers’ Guild. He was a born healer, quiet and comforting, taking his time and being careful with everything around him. His tending to wounded animals did not stop, and he was scolded more than once for hiding an Antelope Doe in his rooms. He only nodded and made the required apologies, then immediately went back out to splint the wing of a Zu he’d seen the day before.

As a conjurer he was often called upon to tend to the wounds of the other guilds, the Archery, Lancers, and Leatherworkers’ guilds especially. Too many apprentices sliced themselves on their leather working blades and he had lectured several of them more than once about keeping a proper edge on them. How many times did it need to be said, a dull knife is more dangerous than a sharp one? He could only reassure himself that eventually Geva would realize what was happening and drum them out one way or another. Hopefully with minimal injuries; he would prefer not to have to tend to people more than the vagrancies of life required. He enjoyed healing, but he hated seeing someone in repeated and avoidable pain.

Such as the new recruits in the Archers’ Guild. Bruises and even cuts from bowstrings were far more common than they should be, with new archers either unwilling to use or unaware of wrist bracers to protect themselves. The ones who were unaware he simply directed to the Leatherworkers’ Guild, the ones who were unwilling… well, they knew better, they simply chose not to make life easier on themselves. Those he tended to hand over to other conjurers, deciding that they needed to get practice in.

One day though he found himself specifically requested to tend to an injury in the Archers’ Guild. It wasn’t completely unheard of that Luciane would request him in particular, but it was unusual enough that he knew to approach it carefully. He walked in, white robes draped around him, and the guildmaster smiled.

“I’m glad you’re here, one of our new recruits is injured and he’s…” she trailed off, sighing. “A bit skittish. You’re quite good with them, so I thought it’d be best to call on you.” Llewellyn smiled and patted the guildmaster’s shoulder in reassurance. He’d never quite caught on to talking overmuch, but it was certainly a sight more than when he was a child. “The Lalafell, he calls himself Sammy.” She gestured to a Lalafell that was holding a cloth to his face, and Llewellyn could see the blood starting to soak through. He caught Luciane’s wording but didn’t think anything of it. Many changed their names when they set out on the road, and it was clear he was from Ul’dah. He smiled at her and nodded before approaching the young man.

And so young, he realized. If Sammy was any older than Connor he would go to the grave claiming himself an aldgoat’s uncle. Sammy watched him warily as he approached, scooting away slightly as he knelt down next to him. “Hello,” he said softly. “My name’s Llewellyn. I was told you hurt yourself. May I see?” Sammy stared him down a moment before slowly pulling the cloth away, revealing a long, thin line that went from the center of his forehead down to his jaw. Llewellyn looked it over, nodding. At least it was a clean cut, if nothing else. “I’m going to wash it,” he murmured, waiting for Sammy to nod before calling some water to his hand, gently running it slowly along Sammy’s face. Sammy hissed, causing Llewellyn to pause before continuing.

Llewellyn was almost at his cheek before Sammy spoke up. “You haven’t asked,” he mumbled, looking down at the floor, which caused Llewellyn to flick his eyes back at Sammy in general instead of focusing on the injury.

“Asked what?” he replied, pausing for a moment.

Sammy waved the hand still holding the cloth near his face, looking embarrassed. “How this happened. Usually when I get hurt people ask questions.” From the way he said it, it seemed to Llewellyn that they weren’t very good questions.

So he shrugged and continued cleaning the injury. “I like to let people bring it up on their own,” he said quietly, and began to tap the cut dry with a new cloth once he reached the jaw. “No pressure, and such.”

Sammy blinked at him in confusion, and Llewellyn took his silence for the end of the conversation. Llewellyn was about to start healing the cut completely when Sammy suddenly inhaled. “My string snapped back on me,” he said in a rush, as though he was afraid of what would happen once he said it. When Llewellyn only nodded, Sammy’s shoulders relaxed. He really was a skittish thing. “Miss Luciane said it was a surprise it didn’t break.”

Llewellyn nodded again, running his thumb up Sammy’s face slowly. “And it’s good that it didn’t break. This would have been worse.” Llewellyn didn’t feel the need to say why it would have been worse, as he thought that would possibly scare the Lalafell even more, and that was the last thing the poor dear needed.

…Poor dear. Well. That was something to tuck away and examine later wasn’t it?

Sammy nearly nodded, then realized what he was about to do and made an agreeing sound instead. “It doesn’t hurt,” he murmured after a moment, glancing up at Llewellyn. He had the glassy eyes of a Plainsfolk, but didn’t have the forehead jewel. His eyes were a bright blue like a La Noscean sky at noon (and _that_ was also a thought to tuck away for later, Llewellyn realized), and while there was still a little wounded animal fright in them, he was starting to relax and trust this hand that had been extended to him. “It… usually hurts, to be healed.”

That made Llewellyn’s heart drop, and he wondered if there was more to what he said than was on top. “I’m known for being as painless as possible,” he replied, giving a little flick of his thumb when he reached the top of Sammy’s cut. “I used to bring home wild animals and ask my mother to help me heal them.”

Sammy looked up at him all the way at that, and a tiny smile even started to appear at the corner of his mouth. “That’s nice,” he said softly. Then he paused, bitting his lip. “You’re nice,” he added. “If I get hurt again, will you heal me?”

“I’d rather you not get hurt again,” he said fondly, but realized that was the wrong thing to say when the young man deflated and looked back at the floor. “But,” he added, tilting his head to get a better look at Sammy’s eyes, “I would certainly not say no to visiting you, or your visiting me.”

Sammy looked back up at him in surprise, and then a wide smile lit up his face. “I-I’d like that!” he chirped, bouncing a little in his seat.

Llewellyn smiled, and when he looked back he would think about how this one tiny thing would change both his and Sammy’s lives, and in the most wonderful way.


	15. Smart Arse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #14: Wit

Brigid sat down on one of the benches outside the conference room and ran a hand over her face. “One of the few times I’m bein’ glad we’re runnin’ ‘round with the lad Leveilleur. Nay bein’… smart ‘nough for this nonsense.” She ignored the look Feli shot her way. “Nay havin’ nearly ‘nough patience, mind, but ‘least he’s havin’ a head for all this.”

Arthur licked a thumb and turned a page in his book. “Sister if you’re about to call yourself stupid—”

“Or the rest of us!” shot over Connor.

“—You’ll want to rethink that. You are certainly not.”

She huffed slightly. “Nay bein’ stupid, nay, but I’m just nay havin’ the wit for politics. Rather be dealin’ with it hands-on, doin’ practical stuff.”

“Which for some reason is an impossible thought to politicians,” Araki grumbled, and Arthur absently patted his knee, just as absently muttering a “yes dear” to him. Araki relaxed a little and curled his hand around Arthur’s. “You know I’m right, man,” he muttered, and Arthur only nodded and kept his attention on the book.

“Perhaps Alphinaud will be able to convince them otherwise,” Llewellyn suggested, though he didn’t seem convinced by that.

“Perhaps he’ll run them ragged like he’s done to us,” Matsu added, idly spinning his lance on end in an attempt to keep himself occupied. The others stared at him, except Arthur who was still focused on his book, before abruptly going back to what they were doing originally.

“Never thought I’d see the day Matsu Ryuzaki held a grudge,” Connor finally said, a touch of disbelief in his voice.

“You’ve yet to hear him lecture Araki for two bells then,” Arthur said distractedly. Araki winced and rubbed the back of his head with his free hand.

“C’mon, don’t bring that up. You weren’t even there for that one!” Araki pouted, then jerked his head up to glare at his brother. “You told him!”

Matsu nodded, clearly bored with the conversation already. “He had to know what he was walking into with you.”

“You? Are a terrible brother.”

“But an excellent boyfriend,” Arthur said with a small smirk on his face. “Wise beyond his years.” Araki pouted again, pulling his hand away from Arthur and crossing his arms.

“And you’re a horrible boyfriend, talking about me like that.” With that he turned away from him, studiously ignoring him.

“Are ye twelve?” William griped, rolling his eyes and handing Brigid some knitting from her bag. “Nay, seriously askin’ lad. Are ye twelve?”

“I certainly hope not, we’ve enough to worry about with the age gap for Llewellyn and Sammy,” Arthur replied, and Llewellyn went a bit pink.

“It isn’t as bad as all that,” he murmured, looking away from Arthur.

“He’s my age, Llew,” Connor added.

“‘M not that young, Connor…” Sammy mumbled, snuggling against Llewellyn.

“And ‘tis ‘nough there, ‘less either of you are wantin’ your Starlight gifts to be disappearin’,” Brigid threatened mildly, and both younger brothers frowned, Connor crossing his arms and looking away as well.

“Findin’ ‘nother one bein’ twelve,” William grumbled, leaning against the wall next to Brigid. “Thinkin’ they’re needin’ some babby blankets?”

“If anyone’s going to need baby blankets soon it’s more Brigid,” Arthur offered, and Brigid colored this time. “She _is_ the only one of us with that sort of relationship after all.”

“What, the sort ‘tis makin’ babes?” she asked, eyebrow raised. “I dinnae ‘xpect me and Thancred will ever be gettin’ close ‘nough for _that_ sort of relationship. ‘Sides,” she sighed, lowering the knitting and letting the brown wool pool in her lap. “Havin’ babes isnae really fittin’ well with bein’ an adventurer. Or bein’ a Warrior of Light, like as nay.”

William sat down and brushed his fingers through Brigid’s hair, his twin sighing and leaning against him as she started knitting again. “Loch ye lot cannae ‘dopt or summat,” he grumbled at Arthur.

“And you can see this one,” he jerked his thumb at Araki, “as a father? I must say William, you should become a bard yourself. I had no idea you had such a wild imagination.” Araki continued to make a point of ignoring Arthur, and Matsu had to hide a laugh behind one of his hands.

Araki shot him a glare over his shoulder. “You continue to be a terrible twin,” he grumbled at Matsu before looking away again. Clearly Matsu hadn’t hidden that laugh well enough.

“Now now Aki,” Arthur soothed, turning a page in his book. “It’s quite alright to laugh at that which one finds amusing. Even if others in the room aren’t quite able to appreciate it.” Araki shot Arthur another glare, this one looking nearly hurt.

Feli suddenly stood up, his fluffy tail starting to puff slightly. “I just remembered, I had a delivery for… ah… Serenity! I’ll return soon, let me know when Alphinaud gets out.” And with that he practically raced down to the aetheryte shard and teleported away, though to the Goldsmith’s Guild or not no one could say.

“Are you ever wonderin’ how those three are havin’ a functionin’ relationship?” Brigid murmured to William, watching Arthur closely. William simply shrugged.

Araki bared his teeth for a moment at Arthur, who looked back calmly. “Yes?” he asked, utterly disinterested in his lover’s irritation.

“Bah,” he grumbled, and looked at William. “I’m stealing the couch in your room tonight,” he decided, William nodding. “I’m going to go find a training dummy, I’ll be back when I’m done.” And with that he followed the same path Feli took and disappeared.

Arthur sighed. “William, don’t fall in love with Thancred,” he warned, as though that followed from what just happened. Perhaps in his head it did.

William raised an eyebrow as Brigid stared at Arthur, all wide eyed confusion. “Ah think Ah c’n be managin’ tha’ easily,” he replied slowly, just as confused as Brigid. Whatever thought Arthur had in his head was satisfied and he returned to his book.

From then the silence was only broken by the slow turns of Matsu’s lance, the clacking of Brigid’s knitting needles, and the soft turns of Arthur’s book. Eventually Llewellyn pulled a book out of Arthur’s pack and started reading as well. It could only be more entertaining than whatever political nonsense Alphinaud was dealing with and trying to sell in return. None of them truly had a head for it (Though Arthur was the one who came closest in general, and Llewellyn had some pull with the Elder Seedseer), and all were content to let Alphinaud handle all of it.

It seemed hours before Alphinaud returned, looking just as worn out as they all expected. Neither Feli nor Araki had returned by then, and Alphinaud was clearly dismayed to see the absence of the former. It was such an obvious little crush the dear had, and Feli was very much ignoring it (they hoped, at least. If Feli honestly couldn’t tell they worried for his eyesight).

Alphinaud sighed, shaking his head. “Naught was resolved,” he grumbled. “I only desire now to return to the Waking Sands and put this behind me.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly fighting off a headache. “But first, we must collect our wayward party members. The Goldsmiths’ Guild, you said?” At Llewellyn’s nod Alphinaud nodded as well. “Then we should be on our way.”

Most of them followed him to the aetheryte shard, Brigid continuing to knit the whole way, except for Matsu, who placed a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “A moment?” he asked, soft words and razor smile.

Arthur only raised an eyebrow as he replaced his books in his pack. “For you, of course,” he said just as softly.

“A word of reminder, if I may?” At Arthur’s nod, he continued. “Wit is not the same as being a smart arse,” he said sternly.

The Hyur clicked his tongue lightly against the roof of his mouth. “Too much then?”

“Araki is sleeping in William’s room tonight,” he reminded him, and Arthur did flinch a little. “Yes, too much.”

He sighed, shoulders slumping. “I’ll have to apologize.”

“More than that I’m sure,” Matsu said with a weak smile, wrapping his arm around Arthur and settling his hand on the Hyur’s hip. “Come, better to start now.”

Quiet fell as they approached the shard, both of them reaching out their hands to it. “Telling Will he should be a bard was a good one though, right?” Arthur suddenly asked, and Matsu laughed softly.

“Yes dear, that was indeed a classic show of _your_ wit,” he replied indulgently as they teleported away.

“Wait, _my_ wi—?”

And silence fell in the Sultana’s halls once again.


	16. "I Mean, the Doppelgangers Come Pre-Installed Here."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #15: Doppelganger

“Oh Alisaie darlin’!” Brigid called out to the young white haired Elezen that walked through the door. They sighed deeply and shook their head.

“ _Alphinaud_ , Brigid, we’ve had this conversation before.”

“Oh have we? ‘Tis sorry I am darlin’, wasnae meanin’ to. Lookin’ so ‘like you are though, even for bein’ a lad and a lass.” The smile on her face though made it clear that she was not making an honest mistake, and Alphinaud sighed again.

“Yes yes, of course. Well, should it help your memory, my dear _sister_ is not at the Waking Sands, so you’ll remember that it is _me_ you’ll see walking through the various doors.” His tone was very put upon and tired, as though he was simply repeating things by rote at this point.

“Aye, ‘course, should be ‘memberin’ that easily. ‘Tis sorry I am Alphinaud.” Though given the lack of ‘honest and true’ at the end of that sentence it was obvious she was being anything but. Alphinaud shook his head but said nothing and continued on his way.

“I realize you have a brother,” Matsu suddenly spoke up, bringing Brigid’s attention back to her fellow twin. “So you might not realize how it feels to be consistently confused for your sibling.”

Before Brigid could respond Yda walked in, glancing about before brightening up in a smile. “Oh, Araki! I was hoping—”

“It’s Matsu, Yda,” Matsu said, just as tired sounding as Alphinaud had. “Lance, not axe.” He reached his hand over his shoulder to tap the weapon in illustration.

Yda stepped back in surprise, and Brigid imagined that her eyes were going wide behind her mask. “Oh! Yes that’s right, your hair’s longer too!” She bounced from side to side a bit in cheer at remembering that. “I’m so sorry, I’ll leave you alone now.” She walked back out the door, humming slightly to herself.

Matsu sighed and took a drink from the cup sitting in front of him. “See?” he asked, resigned. “I hate it.”

Brigid was about to respond again when Yda came back in. “Oh William—”

“I’m Brigid, darlin’,” she said, sounding just as tired and resigned as Matsu. “Liam’s bein’ in Limsa doin’ some work for me.” She didn’t even turn around to face her, simply sipped her tea as Yda snapped her fingers.

“Right right, and he’s a boy too.”

“You might want to reconsider the mask if you’re having such a difficult time,” Matsu suggested gently, raising an eyebrow at Brigid.

“No, no, it’s just that you twins all look the same!” she protested, crossing her arms.

“Then fair warnin’ lass, ‘tis Alphinaud bein’ ‘round, nay Alisaie.” Yda pouted and walked back out. Brigid sighed and let her head fall to the table.

“…How did she confuse you and Will?” Matsu asked after a moment, and Brigid sighed again.

“She’s nay bein’ the only one, sadly. Been happenin’ since we were bein’ wee. Even after I was growin’ these,” she sat back up and gestured to her bust, which was certainly not lacking, Matsu observed idly.

“From behind I can understand,” he mused, swirling his drink lightly. “Or could, if it wasn’t for the extreme hight difference.”

Brigid lowered her head slightly and rested it in her hand. “Aye, ‘tis true. Shouldnae be confusin’ either of us, and yet.” She sighed again and took a long drink of her tea. “So you’re seein’ why I’m nay havin’ much problems with doin’ the same to Alphinaud.”

“I do note you don’t do it to Alisaie when she makes an appearance,” Matsu noted with a raised eyebrow as he sipped his drink. “Rare as it is.”

Brigid laughed softly. “‘Cause I’m bein’ fond of the poor lass. Havin’ him for a brother, and a parent who’s insistin’ on dressin’ them ‘like.”

Matsu sighed. “I’ve never known parents to do that,” he murmured. “It sounds like asking for trouble.”

She nodded, picking through a bowl of nuts and dried fruit on the table between them. “Aye, me and Liam’s were certainly nay doin’ it. Which is bein’ hard, mind you, when you’re nay havin’ much money and suddenly havin’ two babes ‘stead of one.” She picked out a small handful and started to nibble at a nut. “Should have been sharin’ clothes more than we were. Sharin’ near everythin’ else.”

He nodded. “The same for Araki and I. Though I suspect we were better off since there was just two of us.”

“Aye, with five children ‘tis bein’ hard. But we were managin’, aye?” she said with a smile, tapping her cup against Matsu’s.

“Ara—”

“Still Matsu, Yda.”

“Right.”

Matsu’s head was the one that hit the table this time, Brigid patting his head and brushing his hair away from his face. “Be mindin’ your horns, darlin’,” she murmured.

“The table muffles it,” he all but pouted. “She’s taking the longest to learn, you’ve noticed.”

“Yda’s nay bein’ very bright,” Brigid agreed. “But Papalymo’s clearly nay mindin’ overmuch, and ‘tisnae bein’ our business anyway.”

“You’ve noticed too then?”

“Oh darlin’, they’re clearly married.” Brigid nibbled on another nut and then a dried fruit, probably some sort of citrus. “Goodness hopin’ they’re never havin’ twins, she’d never be tellin’ her own ‘part if she’s nay tellin’ the lot of us.”

Matsu laughed and raised his head again. “Hopefully she’d manage it,” he said fondly. “She isn’t dumb, after all.”

“Oh aye, when she’s puttin’ her mind to things she’s bein’ rather smart. Just lookin’ like tellin’ the six of us ‘part isnae rankin’ very high.”

They were quiet several minutes, enjoying each other’s company. It wasn’t often that just the two of them were able to spend time together, and so they took what time they could, especially since Matsu had shyly let it slip near the start of his and Araki’s relationship with Arthur that she was the closest thing he’d ever had to an older sister.

Matsu paused on his way to sip his drink. “Have you noticed how odd it is there’s three sets of twins here? Considering how rare we are?”

Brigid shrugged. “Nay really. Twins are runnin’ in Mum’s side of the family. ‘Sides, I’m hearin’ tell of a Xaela clan where one in every three carryin’s is bein’ twins.” She smiled as Matsu flicked his white scale covered tail. “Aye darlin’, I’m knowin’ quite well you’re bein’ Raen.”

“It’s really not that strange to you at all?” he asked, eyebrow raised.

Another shrug. “I’ve long since accepted if I’m ever havin’ babes I’ll likely bein’ havin’ twins at some point. And we’re bein’ a large group of folks with ‘xtraordinay skills, that seems to be runnin’ in ‘least two families. ‘Tis only makin’ sense that there’ll be a higher number of less likely siblin’ sets runnin’ ‘round here.” She sipped her tea. “I’ll be worryin’ ‘bout it if somethin’s posin’ as us.” And then she paused. “...Cannae really be ‘plainin’ the Leveilleurs.” Matsu hummed softly to himself and nodded.

“Will—”

“Still bein’ Bri, darlin’. And the short, white haired Elezen’s still bein’ Alphinaud.”

“Right, right.”

Matsu watched her walk out. “She must be messing with us. She has to be.”

“You’re bein’ sure ‘bout that?”

“No. But I hope so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She is absolutely messing with them.


	17. Fuel, Flame, Farewell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #16: Ceruleum

_Their relationship was a little like ceruleum_

Her breath hadn’t quite caught in her throat when she’d first seen him, a handsome stranger with white hair, soft brown eyes, and a lovely voice. He wasn’t striking, not like some others she’d seen in her life, and there wasn’t anything particularly _special_ about him. But he intrigued her, and watching him fight was certainly lovely. Yes, she did like this one.

_Volatile_

She tore at his clothes, him doing the same to hers as she pinned him against the door, locked in a kiss that was heat and teeth. The scant height difference between them was of little impact if it was at all. He soon growled into her mouth, making her laugh as he simply pulled up the hem of her robe, giving himself enough leeway to grab her thigh and pull her closer against him, practically wrapping her leg around his waist.

Their joinings were always fast and nearly violent: teeth and nails, growls and whimpers, shouts and screams. They were little more than friends with benefits, both of them fully aware of that fact, and both fully content with it. Exclusivity didn’t fit either of them, and Brigid especially had no real interest in attempting it.

_And quick to catch_

Her breath _did_ catch when he slew an Amalj'aa single handedly with three knives thrown as one. She had never seen something so… _enthralling_ and her cheeks even went a little pink. Connor and Arthur noticed, Connor in disgust and Arthur mildly amused, but she was able to play it off as from the heat of the fire they’d just fought through and still found themselves moderately surrounded by.

Thancred quickly moved from ‘intriguing’ to ‘oh sweet Twelve above _take me now_ ’ in her estimation that day.

_It was explosive_

The rage in her heart at discovering first his apparent betrayal then his actual possession would cast a shadow on the heat of Ifrit’s flames, she was certain of it. _Ascian_. She would remember that title. _Lahabrea_. She would burn that name into her memory. And soon she would find a way to burn _him_. Burn him to the _ground_ and grind him under her heel until even ashes did not remain. Brigid considered Thancred to be one of her precious persons and she would _not stand for this_.

She called on the Light, she rescued him, but failed to make her kill. That would have to wait for another day, before what was left of the ceruleum exploded and took the base down along with themselves.

_It was also like a candle flame, soft and gentle_

There were soft smiles, gentle touches, light kisses. Pleasant hours whiled away together in friendly silences. They were easy with each other in a way that few expected to see out of either of them but never really pointed out. Shy and fond expressions during linkpearl calls when they thought no one was watching. Girlish giggles from Brigid, pleased chuckles from Thancred. They were happy with each other, though Brigid was much more obvious about it. Thancred spent more time in the field and in libraries, but the others assumed it was doing him just as much good as it was her.

_Steady and bright_

When he was in the Waking Sands and later the Rising Stones he was rarely found in his own bed. They had silently and without discussion taken up equal residence in Brigid’s room. It soothed the nightmares of each of them, letting them both sleep better. Not that they were exclusive to each other even with that development, of course. It was simply easier to fall asleep in the bed they were both already in, and the majority of the time that bed was Brigid’s. It was also the more comfortable of the two.

It was around this time that Brigid would look back on the day she and the others fought Ifrit, the day that Thancred felled the Amalj'aa, and realize one thing: She had well and truly fallen in love with him.

It was around this time that Thancred would look back on a field of battle, long after Ifrit, just before Leviathan, where Brigid walked, dressed in red and daggers held in her hands. Her face was spattered with beastkin blood, a drop running down her nose and others trailing down her cheek. Her face held an expression that was one of unfettered joy, one of utter freedom that shone undimmed by the uncommon surroundings, and realize one thing: … _Oh no_. Oh no that was a new feeling, he didn’t know what to do with it.

After Leviathan, relieved to see her safe (and thankful she didn’t join in on Minfilia’s teasing), he realized what that feeling was: He had fallen in love with her. And he had no idea what to do with it.

_But ceruleum and candle flame shared one thing in common_

Things seemed to take on a new shade for them both, gentler affection, soft and sweet kisses, lingering handclasps and eye contact. Gifts between them both, things often unusual for love tokens but ones that made each other happy. And still they refused to even consider being exclusive. It wasn’t something either of them wanted, and Brigid was often happy to hear about Thancred’s adventures in being a flirt. Especially if he brought a girl around for her as well every now and again.

Even Connor was starting to come around on him, to Brigid’s surprise. Not that he overmuch liked the man even now, but he could appreciate that Thancred made his sister happy. And Connor being anything other than utterly against one of Brigid’s lovers, that was nearly a sign of approval. It wasn’t, but it was close. Close enough for Brigid to be happy.

Through it all, they never said “I love you.”

_Both eventually run out._

It had gone wrong _how had everything gone so wrong_.

They ran through the waterway under the Sultana’s Palace, and given the sound of their splashing Brigid was unsure why everyone was concerned with staying quiet. They had left Yda and Papalymo behind, the two of them buying the others time to escape.

She didn’t think any of them would ever forgive themselves for doing so.

As the group ran they soon heard their pursuers, and they realized that they would have to leave someone behind again. It was the only way to keep the Warriors of Light and Minfilia safe.

Brigid paused and squeezed Thancred’s hand. “Please, nay…” she whispered, and he handed the lantern he was carrying to Arthur.

“Brigid,” he said softly, as he took her hand in both of his, squeezing back. She frowned, shaking her head.

“We can keep runnin’, or I can be stayin’ here with you.” She forced back the tears that wanted to spring to her eyes, swallowed back the lump that still managed to make her voice break.

He shook his head in return and pulled her in for a tight hug. “We’ll catch up,” he promised. “Stay safe for me until then.”

A single sob forced its way out of her throat, but she nodded. “Aye, alright.” She dug her fingers into his hair and dragged him into a desperate kiss, full of teeth and need like the kisses of their early relationship. When they finally pulled apart Thancred brushed his hand through her fringe and pressed their foreheads together. “Dinnae ye dare die on me, ye understandin’ me?” she ordered, ignoring the tears that finally escaped and were running down her face.

“You’d find a way to kill me if I did,” he replied with a tremor in his voice, and she couldn’t tell if it was concern or humor. A kiss to her forehead and he looked to William, who quickly stepped forward. “Keep her safe,” he said, passing her over to him.

“Always dae,” he replied, pulling her tight. He looked over to the others. “Alreet ye gits, cannae be stayin’ here!”

Brigid kept her eyes on Thancred until they turned a corner. Her last sight of him was with his blades in hand, ready to defend them — defend _her_ — from what was to come.

_Through it all, they never said “I love you.” It was too much like “Goodbye.”_


	18. How Life Ends Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #17: Fate

“Bri?” William asked as his twin settled next to him and leaned her head against his shoulder, fingers busy with knitting. She hummed softly in response, and he laughed. “Tired, Bi Bi?”

“Mmm, only a wee bit Li Li.” The nicknames were a callback to childhood, when William had trouble with his R sounds and Brigid was trying to get double L sounds right between himself and Llewellyn. They eventually started calling each other Bri and Liam, but sometimes the old nicknames were the most comforting. “Why?”

He shrugged the shoulder that wasn’t occupied by his sister and started petting her hair. “Jes’ wonderin’. Nay comin’ round tae yer brither much lately,” he teased, leaning his head to rest on hers. Their height difference didn’t matter quite so much when they were sitting, with most of William’s height in his legs. She laughed softly and batted at him with the end of the brown wool rectangle she was working on.

“Havin’ stuff to be workin’ on,” she replied with a smile. “Havin’ to be finishin’ all these so I can be stitchin’ them together.”

“Mmm,” William said noncommittally. “Oh aye, ‘tis sure Ah am ‘tis all ye’re ‘workin’ oan.” He laughed when she outright smacked him with the rectangle. “Wus Ah touchin’ tae close then, Bi Bi?”

“Swearin’, you’re bein’ me only brother teasin’ me ‘bout me sex life,” she grumbled. “Arthur and Connor are outright bein’ disgusted by the very idea, and Llew…” she sighed and smiled softly. “Well, he’s still seein’ me as his baby sister.”

William laughed and pressed a kiss against her forehead. “Well, ‘tisnae botherin’ me loch ‘tis botherin’ them. Sae Ah’ll tease ye as ye tease me when Ah’m havin’ a lass.”

She shook her head fondly. “Darlin’, when was the last time you were even havin’ a lass anyway?”

“Well clearly ye whaur nay payin’ ‘tention were ye?” he asked, mock affronted. She looked up at him blankly, and blinked once or twice for show. William huffed and shoved her lightly. “Aye alreet, ‘tis been ‘while.” He then reached up to rub his knuckles against her head. “Sae Ah’m jes’ gang tae tease ye tae ease me lonely heart.”

She shoved back and they both laughed and leaned back into each other again. They didn’t often fight, not for real, and they happily forgave each other mostly everything. Yes it took Brigid a few years to get over the scar over her eye, but she did eventually and that was the important part according to William. “Lonely heart you’re sayin’ you daft darlin’,” she teased in return. “Sendin’ you ‘round all the time doin’ tasks for me, how am I to be knowin’ you’re nay havin’ your own sort of fun and nay braggin’ ‘bout it to me?” She poked his side with a smile. “I’m knowin’ you’re nay carin’ ‘bout nay kissin’ and tellin’ after all!”

He shrugged his unoccupied shoulder again. “Nay havin’ th’ time luv,” he murmured. “Sellin’ things, huntin’ things, findin’ things, ‘tis takin’ all me time.” She blinked up at him and he sighed. “Nay even for somethin’ quick, lass.”

She shook her head. “You’re needin’ time for yourself, Li Li,” she murmured softly. “I’m nay just meanin’ for matters like that, just. Needin’ a rest.”

“Ye _are_ me employer, sister,” he murmured. She blushed lightly and pressed her face into his shoulder. He chuckled and started petting her hair again. “Fate wus decidin’ Ah’m nay a Warrior ay Light loch th’ rest ay th’ family,” he said softly. “And fate wus decidin’ tha’ Ah’d be stayin’ at yer side by bein’ yer retainer.”

“Retainer of Light,” she said quietly but with a smile. “‘Tis what you’re bein’.” She hummed and snuggled closer to him, happy and content. “Fate was givin’ you to me, and so with me you’ll be stayin’.”

He laughed and kissed her again, this time on her temple. “Aye, comin’ together, stayin’ together as Mum was sayin’,” he murmured fondly.

They sat quietly for a long while, the clacking of Brigid’s needles and William’s breathing being the only sounds in the room. As night started to fall Brigid blinked, the candles nearby springing to life with strong flames. He laughed softly and hugged her closer. “Still daein’ tha’ old trick?” he asked fondly.

“‘Tis usually impressin’ folk,” she said with a smile. “They’re ‘pectin’ a mage like me to be doin’ somethin’ fancy like fireballs and such. Lightin’ candles is makin’ folks jump, ‘specially if they’re forgettin’ ‘bout it.”

“And was your lad jumpin’?” he asked after a moment, and Brigid looked back up at him, eyebrow raised.

“Nay, in fact. He was just raisin’ an eyebrow at me, wonderin’ what I was doin’.” William nodded and made what sounded like an approving sound to her. “Aye, and ‘tis that bein’ ‘bout then?”

“Oh, naythin’. Naythin’ ‘tall,” he said, in a tone that did not sound as though it actually did mean nothing at all. She frowned, almost pouting at him, and he laughed fondly, rubbing her back between her shoulder blades. “Nay thinkin’ ye’d be settlin’ fer someone easily spooked by ye, ‘tis all.”

“Mmm,” Brigid replied, clearly not believing that was all there was to it. “Well, he’s nay bein’ spooked by you if you’re thinkin’ ‘bout tryin’ to be provin’ he’s bein’ worthy of me or some nonsense like that.”

“‘Course nay,” he said placatingly. “Ye’re nay bein’ loch tha’, after all. But,” he said, holding up a hand, “Ye’re still deservin’ a lad who’s ‘preciatin’ ye, nay matter how lang yer time wi’ him ‘tis bein’.”

Brigid sighed and stabbed her needles into her knitting with possibly more force than needed. “I’m hopin’ you’d be doin’ the same if I was takin’ a lass to me bed,” she grumbled, and William realized that he was already walking on thin ice.

“‘Course Ah wuld,” he assured her. “Be findin’ yerself a lass an’ Ah’ll be watchin’ her fer jumpin’ ‘round when ye’re lightin’ candles tae.” Again she smacked him with the strip of knitting and he smiled at her.

“You’re bein’ such a daft fool,” she said fondly. “Dinnae you be tellin’ the others, but you’re bein’ me favorite brother.”

“An’ ye’re bein’ me favorite sister,” he murmured, ruffling her hair and kissing the crown of her head.

“I’m bein’ your only sister.”

“Shush.”

They were quiet for a few moments, enjoying getting the chance to sit together with no one else around and hearing little other than each other’s heartbeats. “Bri?” he asked, getting the humming sound in response. “Why wure ye gang tae Ul’dah fer Thaumaturge trainin’?”

She looked up at him, confused. “…Needin’ you to be ‘plainin’ that one, love.”

He sighed. “Ah ken ye luv yer fire, an’ bein’ able tae control it is bein’ a guid idea an’ all, but,” and he tapped the hilt of one of her daggers, “Ye’ve always bein’ meant fer th’ blade. Da was kennin’ it since ye whur wee.”

She hummed as the door opened, their eyes flicking over automatically, and William saw Brigid’s eyes light up as they realized it was Thancred, finally back from his time out in the field. He raised his hand in greeting and she waved back, smiling softly. He went past them, into the deeper reaches of the Rising Stones, both of them knowing he had to report to Minfilia before spending much time with them — and by them, William mused, it was more like Brigid — business before pleasure, as it were.

Brigid laughed and gathered up her knitting, and stood before she pressed a kiss to William’s forehead, smiling softly. “I dinnae,” she finally answered. “Maybe ‘twas bein’ fate.” And with that she winked and followed Thancred, likely intending to hide the knitting away and give him a proper hello.

William sighed and slipped behind the bar to pour himself a drink. “Ye best be wurth her, lad,” he muttered to himself. “Fate or nay, ‘tis me big sister she’s bein’, an’ ye’ll be hearin’ from me if ye’re ever hurtin’ her.” He knocked back the glass and poured himself another one. He watched the liquor move gently back and forth in the glass as if he was studying the tides, the fates of the world.


	19. Pace Yourself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #18: Self-Control

All things in life required self-control. To light candles with magic required self-control to contain the flame to the wick of the candle. To stab to wound and not to kill required the self-control to stop at the proper time. Even knitting required self-control, as one could hardly be expected to knit well (or do anything at all really) when they forget to surface for meals.

And pacing herself to win a drinking contest most assuredly took an enormous amount of self-control.

The Scions were gathered around her and her foe, cheering them on and paying for their rounds as Brigid lowered her glass. She slung an arm over the back and crossed her legs, leaning on the table as she rested her chin on her other hand. “‘Tis bein’ your turn, love,” she almost purred, a smirk coming to her lips.

Her foe was a Roegadyn, Hellsguard variety. She’d forgotten his name over the past hour’s worth of drinks. He wasn’t Hoary Boulder at least, Coultenet would never forgive her if she trounced his… well, she wasn’t going to name it before they were ready to admit it to themselves. The Roe flashed her a return smile and took his own glass in hand. “You’ll never beat me, girl,” he chuckled and quickly knocked back the drink.

A shame, that. Pacing was clearly not something that occurred to the Roe, and Brigid sighed. This would be far too easy, even accounting for the size difference. She despised easy wins. They were so boring. She did smile up at the Scion who brought her the next drink, bringing a blush to their face at being graced by a smile from one of the Warriors of Light. She swirled it in the glass for a moment. “Are you really thinkin’ so lad?” she asked softly. “Must be new then, if you’re nay realizin’ a very important detail.”

“Oh? And what’s that? That you’re half my size at _best_?” He laughed loud and long, ignoring that none of the others were laughing with him.

She shrugged and slowly swallowed the drink, this time drawing it out to unnerve the Roe. As she sat her glass down she smiled. “I’m bein’ undefeated, and I’ve handled bigger Roe than you.”

Disappointingly her efforts had no effect on the Roe, who practically snatched his drink out of someone’s hand and barely took a second to slam it back. Yes, this was going to end too soon and she wouldn’t even get a proper buzz at this rate. “Well, there’s always a first time, girl.” His smile took on a leering edge, and the hairs on the back of Brigid’s neck stood on end. “How about we make this interesting?”

Brigid looked at him flatly. “You’re wantin’ to be bettin’ me body if I’m losin’. Nay, I’m nay workin’ in the Lominsan brothels.” Anymore, at any rate. She took her next round while maintaining eye contact. She drank it slowly, somehow still staring him down to make her point. “I can be pointin’ you to one ‘twould be takin’ your coin, though.”

He growled at her, and she was thankful that even though he tightened his hand around his glass he didn’t break it. She’d hate to be the cause of breakage around the Rising Stones. He shouted at the surrounding people to bring him another damned drink already!

And so it went on, Brigid easily matching the Roe drink for drink, only remaining interested in the contest out of pride. Otherwise she was quite terribly bored. He did last longer than expected, to her bored surprise, but she had been right, she wasn’t even buzzed.

The Roe, on the other hand, was swaying in his chair and slurring so much she couldn’t understand his words. She ignored him, simply drinking every time he managed to put his glass on the table upright. And then when it was on the table at all. “You’re borin’ me, lad,” she sighed, swirling her latest drink in her glass, focusing on the near whirlpool instead of how the Roe had begun to slowly list out of his chair. Another sigh and she slowly drank it down. She placed her glass on the table just as he fell out of the chair, passed out before he hit ground. A cheer went up from the assembled group, along with applause and congratulations for Brigid. She stood, completely steady on her feet. “Be lettin’ Llewellyn know I’m leavin’ him ‘nother drinkin’ contest victim,” she asked one of them. “I’m thinkin’ this one’s bein’ rather bad.”

Yes, self-control was incredibly important. Such as the self-control to not get involved with a woman who was known far and wide for her high alcohol tolerance and was undefeated ninety-nine to zero — well, now one hundred to zero, she supposed — in drinking contests, and that was just in Mor Dhona.


	20. Taking it Literally

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #19: Battle of Wills

Brigid walked past William and another Elezen seated at a table. They each had an arm on it, bent at the elbow, and their hands were clasped together. She hummed softly and went to the bar, smiling as the person at the bar handed her a glass of whiskey. “‘Tis Liam doin’?” she asked, tilting her head back at the two.

The bartender looked over at them and shrugged. “Arm wrestling, he says. A new recruit to the Scions, name of Guillaume, challenged him.”

Brigid laughed softly, settling her glass down on the bar. “Is he winnin’?” she asked, amused by the thought.

“All of the twenty five rounds they’ve played so far. Guillaume has no interest in losing, it seems.”

“Mmm,” Brigid hummed to herself, taking a drink from her whiskey. “Well, good luck to him.” Another drink, then she grinned. “Be kickin’ his arse, Liam!”


	21. Assumptions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 20: Blending In

Most of them favored their mother, appearing to all who looked at them full blood Elezen. The pointed ears, their height, even the pale skin all made it clear they were as Wildwood Elezen as a sizable chunk of Gridania. Brigid especially took after her, inheriting the deep red hair and her singing voice.

But if people took a closer look, noticed that Brigid was terribly short for an Elezen, and that they claimed the clearly Hyurian Arthur as their brother, they would realize one very clear thing: All five of them were half Hyur, half Elezen. There was something in all of them that gave it away: Llewellyn’s sturdier build, Arthur having been the one to inherit their mother’s sharp green eyes, Brigid barely being taller than six fulms, William’s complexion, Connor’s shorter ears and being rather tall for his age. Most people seemed to have no interest in looking that closely, however, and even were so inattentive that many tended to have a difficult time telling Brigid and Will apart.

They counted themselves lucky that none were too interested in paying that much attention, knowing how many people viewed mixed race relationships, and especially the children of such relationships. As though any of them chose to have parents that were of different races. Arthur hid easily, more easily than expected truth be told. Where he should have stood out like an Au Ra in Coerthas he blended in, letting people assume what they liked. People were all too happy to make assumptions anyway.

Their parents used to reassure him, that though he took far more after their father he had longer ears than typical of a Hyur, just as Connor’s ears were just a little shorter for an Elezen. It was only after Arthur noticed how little attention people paid him (smaller, without any striking features to really speak of other than his eyebrows, pale enough to pass as Wildwood) that he stopped caring. It soon reached the point that he believed his family worried more about people seeing his true heritage than he did. Not that he wasn’t worried at all, mind, he simply knew that no one would bother to raise a fuss if they even noticed.

It became easier to hide it after their parents died. Or at least they presumed their father had died in the Calamity, enough people certainly had and their father had never gone on one of his wanders longer than six months before, so five years and then some seemed to indicate he was gone. Their mother had passed years before that. If anyone noticed anything odd after that, it was likely they assumed Arthur was adopted, or otherwise an honorary family member, not one of blood. If they didn’t pay enough attention to notice he passed more as Hyur than Elezen, they certainly wouldn’t pay enough attention to notice he shared the green eyes of his family, even if it was a different shade of green. Their mother’s green.

He did wonder, sometimes, if people actually did notice, after he became a Warrior of Light alongside the others, but ignored it because he was, in fact, a _Warrior of Light_. What did it matter what the racial makeup of Hydaelyn Chosen was? Hydaelyn didn’t seem to care, clearly. He did what he needed to do, and he did it well.


	22. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #21: Wind

Brigid was known for climbing to great heights. Perhaps it was to make up for being short for an Elezen, or perhaps there was a bit of dragoon hidden in the Black Mage/Ninja. Either way, if there was a high point in the area Brigid would find it.

Being gifted a Fortemps black chocobo had been a dream come true, even if she would never understand how something that looked like a chocobo could fly.

Be it climbing or flying to those high points, she would close her eyes and breathe in deep, letting the wind whip through her hair. Fire was freedom, but so was the wind.

In La Noscea the wind of course smelled of salt, of ocean, but there was a tinge of what whispered _possibilities_ to her. It was a land of ports, of travel, and the wind from the top of the Aftcastle in Limsa Lominsa made that clear. She simply had to step onto one of the boats and she could travel _anywhere_ , maybe even to the far off lands of Yanxia, Doma, Hingashi. She felt she could spread her arms and fly under her own power when she climbed onto one of the islands of the Floating City, reached the peak of the crystals keeping them upright. Of course she didn’t, there wasn’t even a stack of hay to break her fall.

In Ul’dah, it was dry. Painfully dry to her lungs, and she spent the first week of her time in Ul’dah in one of Momodi’s inn rooms practically coughing up mud and grit until she adjusted. But soon she found the highest point in her travels: The top of the Highbridge in Eastern Thanalan.

The wind there smelled of the bitter sting of aether, and the painful sour touch of the air coming in from Blue Fog. It smelled of dirt, because of the drier sand in Thanalan than the wetter sand of La Noscea. Between the aether and closeness of the Garlean Empire, she did not like the wind of Ul’dah. It felt closed in, restrained. Ul’dah rarely ever felt right, except when she, with Nanamo’s permission of course, climbed to the top of the Sultan Tree and sat in its branches. There the wind smelled clean and safe, as though the Tree was protecting the area.

(The fact that she met Thancred under it was only a small part of why.)

Gridania was a strange creature. Like Ul’dah it didn’t feel welcoming, except in the East and Central Shrouds, and in the South Shroud it either felt like death the closer she got to Quarrymill, or like swamp when she was in Camp Tranquil. Sometimes the air felt like the Twelveswood was just waiting to find a reason to kick them all out. When she climbed to the top of one of the tent polls in Camp Tranquil she nearly doubled over in sick at the smell of the Molbros and the feeling of repression.

But then, it also felt the closest to home she had ever felt. The sound of the wind in her ears was very nearly a whisper to her, one asking her to come home. It wasn’t enough to make her settle forever, but it was enough for her to save up for a tiny house all on her own. She was on the edge of the water in the Lavender Beds, at the edge of the Central Shroud, and the sound of the water with the sound of the wind was almost perfect. It wasn’t, but almost.

In Coerthas and Ishgard proper she didn’t need to climb anything to experience the wind; it whipped through her clothes in icy knives. Her growing belly prevented her from scaling the Supreme Sacred Tribunal of Halonic Inquisitory Doctrine as she so wanted. Instead she stood at the edge of the walkway in the Pillars, eyes closed as the air rushed past her. It smelled of dragonfire, whispered what the Ishgardians would consider heresies, and felt oddly freeing. Not for her, but for others.

Later it only smelled of blood and tears, and it turned her stomach.

Finally, years later she climbed a watchtower in the Azim Steppe and looked out over the expanse of the land, closed her eyes and spread her arms, letting the wind blow around her, playing with tendrils of her hair that worked themselves free of her braid. Here, _here_ she finally found what she had been seeking all those years: A soothing wind, which smelled of little more than grass and life, a wind that screamed to her _You have found home._

It would never be home, not for her. But she had found it, and as she called on her Yol to take to the skies, to feel the wind through her hair and examine the whole of this new land, she decided that was enough. The wind would always welcome her back.


	23. Childhood Fears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #22: Monster

Connor had been so excited to get his own room. Llewellyn moved into their parents’ room when it became clear that their father had no interest in staying at home longer than a week and seemed to stay in the main room, drinking whatever he brought back before leaving again. Arthur was quite pleased to finally not need to share with “the baby” and more than happily helped them move Connor into Llewellyn’s old room.

It was bigger than he expected, but that meant all the more room to play when he wasn’t learning his letters and numbers from Arthur, or helping William with the garden outside. Brigid quickly brought in a rug so his excited feet would be muffled as he ran around. When he was older he would realize their tired smiles were because of their happiness at seeing the youngest of them still so happy, untouched by what was happening to them.

The first few nights he was so excited to have His Own Room! that he went to bed without realizing just how different it was at night. But soon enough the new wore off and as Connor settled into bed he noticed all the shadows that weren’t there in the daytime, and he sunk under the covers, clutching the stuffed courel toy that the others swore their mother made for him tight against his chest. He barely slept, eyes stuck on the small closet as though his watch was the only thing keeping it from opening and unleashing all manner of beastkin upon him.

The next morning he clung to Brigid’s skirts, half asleep and pale. She sighed and swept him up, holding him close for the rest of the day, letting him sleep against her shoulder and glaring at Arthur when he insisted on waking Connor up for his lessons. “The wee darlin’ can be havin’ a day off,” she hissed at him before stroking Connor’s hair and kissing the crown of his head.

He awoke by mid-afternoon but seemed happy enough to stay with his sister, so Brigid continued to carry him around. Over the afternoon his fright made its way out: “Somethin’s in the closet,” he whimpered, clinging tightly to her, and relaxed under her soothing, her warm hand rubbing his back.

“We’ll be lookin’ at it ‘fore you’re goin’ to sleep, makin’ sure naythin’s in there,” she promised, and he nodded weakly.

That night she and William kept her promise, opening the closet doors wide and showing him that there was nothing to fear. Thus soothed Brigid carried him off to wipe off the dust of the day as William stayed behind to close the doors. He pouted as all little boys did getting even a slight bath, and she laughed before bringing him back to his room, doors closed, and tucked him in to bed. “Sleep well, wee wolf,” she murmured, and he nodded, settling down and feeling safe.

A growl woke him up long before the sun rose, and his eyes snapped open to fix on the closet doors. He clutched his stuffed courel tighter, eyes wide and scared. He scooted back even more against the wall as the doors started shaking, holding back cries. He was a big boy with his own room now! He wouldn’t cry just because he was scared!

And then the door cracked open.

“ _Bri_!” he yelled, jumping out of bed and running off at full speed to her and William’s bedroom, nearly leaping into her bed from the door. Brigid instantly wrapped her arms around him, rubbing his back and trying to soothe him. “There’s a monster in my closet there is the door opened and I’m scared go kill it please!” he sobbed into her chest, letting his tears fall now that Big Sister was there to keep him safe.

“Easy now,” she murmured, swinging her legs out of bed and standing. “I’ll be takin’ care of you.” She carried him back to his room, rubbing his back as he continued to cry into her chest. She glanced into his room, and he heard her growl. “William Cináed Télesphore!”

Connor looked up in surprise, as he rarely ever heard his sister call her twin by his full name. Laughter soon reached his ears and he looked over, to find his older brother sitting in front of his empty closet, laughing so hard tears were running down his eyes. Connor sniffled and clung to Brigid. “You?” he asked, a tremor in his voice.

William was laughing so hard Connor couldn’t understand him, but apparently Brigid did. “You’re bein’ a right terrible big brother, actin’ like that! Nay need to be scarin’ the poor lad! Life’s bein’ hard ‘nough for us right now, you’re nay needin’ to be makin’ it harder on him!” Connor calmed as Brigid continued to lecture William, falling asleep in her arms again.

The next morning William, properly ashamed of himself as he was under the glares of both Brigid and Llewellyn, knelt down to Connor’s eye level and apologized for his behavior. For the next year, however, Connor insisted on both having his closet checked for beastkin and to know _exactly_ where William was before they closed his door at night.

* * *

Connor fastened the buckles on his new plate mail, ready to sell the first set he was wearing once he was done. Best way to conserve pack space and keep the gil up for teleport fees, he thought. And, as he glanced over to the two handed sword on display, for new weapons.

As he handed it over to the merchant, he heard two young girls talking in hushed towns. He looked over to them, an Elezen and a Miqo’te, as he took the gil. From what little he could hear, they were talking about a monster hiding in the grass near where they played. He tilted his head and walked over to them, smiling as he knelt down. “Forgive me my ladies,” he said with a soft smile, “But I’m experienced in finding monsters and I heard you have a problem with them.”

The Miqo’te, with pink hair and clothes to match, looked at her friend and then to Connor. “Do you know Mister Feli?” she asked, tail gone limp. He nodded, and she smiled, ears and tail both perking up. “Then you can help!” she chirped. “I’m T’Kebbe!”

The Elezen smiled, more restrained than her friend. “I’m Sialie,” she said softly. “Do you know where The Snail is?” He nodded again, and she clasped her hands together. “There’s something in the grass there, and we’re scared.”

“I’m Connor,” he introduced himself. “I’ll be happy to get rid of it if you lead me there,” he offered, and both girls bounced happily before each one took a hand and lead him along the path, comforted enough to chatter at him about whatever crossed their minds. Soon though they arrived at the Snail, a spiraling area with a garden in the center. The girls quickly hid behind him, eyes wide and scared. Connor half turned and patted both of them on the head. “You’ll be safe with me, I’ll take care of it. Stay here.”

The girls nodded and held on to each other as Connor approached the garden, and the plants were shifting in a way that made it clear that something large was in it… and it wasn’t a beastkin, not to his adventurer’s eye. He sighed internally and pulled his sword from its sheathe. “Yes,” he said perhaps a little too loudly, “That’s a horrible beastkin, ready to feast on young ladies like you. I’ll have to kill it,” and here the movement suddenly paused, “so I can protect you both.”

“No no it’s nothing!” cried a young boy’s voice, and the owner of the voice quickly popped out of the garden, a young Hyur boy, and clearly the girls behind Connor knew exactly who he was, T’Kebbe’s tail puffing indignantly.

“Edwyn!” they yelled, and Connor smiled to himself and stepped out of the way. “Why would you do that?!”

“I just wanted to scare you a little! I didn’t think you’d get an adventurer!”

T’Kebbe’s tail stiffened and she stamped her foot, hands in fists. “You’re lucky Mister Connor is one of Mister Feli’s friends!”

Connor coughed behind a hand and knelt down again, this time level with Edwyn. “And that none of my family stabs first.” Well except for Brigid, he thought, but that wasn’t that important. He gave him a small smile. “I take it you’ve learned the same lesson my older brother learned when he played the same prank on me?”

Edwyn nodded and lowered his head. “Yes ser. I won’t do it again.” Connor ruffled his hair fondly.

“That’s a good lad. Go apologize to your friends now, you gave them quite the fright.”

As Edwyn walked over to the girls, who continued to scold him, Connor laughed to himself. He might not have been able to beat the monsters when he was their age and younger, but he could at least slay the monsters of their childhood, real and imagined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In last year's event there was no prompt 23, so I'm taking tomorrow off (Christmas crafting is a special kind of hell y'all) and I'll resume on Christmas Eve!


	24. Skip the Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #24: Standing in Line  
> Warning for a brief moment of slut shaming.

William couldn’t stand being practically stuck in Ishgard. Oh he could come and go as he pleased, more or less. No one cared about the so called Retainer of Light. If he wanted he could buy or sell any manner of things in the markets of any of the three city-states, but that would mean leaving his family alone in _Ishgard_ , and with his sister in her current state… well, that meant he was stuck in the Ishgard markets.

His purse was heavy with the gil he’d made that day, and as he approached a patisserie he decided to pick up a sweet of some kind for her. He just hoped she’d dropped that craving for rolanberries, those things made him itch like a mad thing.

He stood over the counter with offerings on display, crowned pie and marron glace and apple strudel — he _thought_ she’d had an apple craving lately, but he wasn’t certain — trying to decide what she’d be least likely to burst into tears over simply because he’d gotten it wrong. The almond cream croissant looked like it could be a good idea too, but he didn’t have much time to consider it when someone grabbed his shoulder and shoved him to the side.

“Outsiders have their own line,” came the snobby voice of one of the Ishgardians, a lower noble who thought himself higher than he was, from William’s eye. Last season’s day wear, resoled shoes, a hat that looked ever so slightly crushed, and clearly less than even midrange quality gold jewelry. Yes, likely a member of the lowest rung of the nobility, the sort to lord it over the smallfolk and outsiders particularly, hoping they wouldn’t be observant enough to know the difference. William narrowed his eyes at the man, well aware that the two of them were the only people in the shop, and he was the first one there.

Thankfully, he had a _slightly_ better hold on his temper than his sister did on hers.

“Nay seein’ a line anywhere,” he shot back, brushing past him and going back to looking things over. Maybe a few of the strudels, a crowned pie, and an almond cream croissant? And something for himself as well, as a reward for being a good twin brother. He was about to make his purchases when his shoulder was grabbed again.

_Slightly._

William threw the noble off his shoulder and cuffed him by the back of his collar. “Ah’m tryin’ to buy some sweets fer me sister, a Warrior o’ Light,” he growled, but still trying to smooth out his accent. No sense in making himself clear without _making himself clear_. “‘Tis past time fer ye to be learnin’ how to be _waitin’ your turn_.”

“Behind an _outsider_?!” the lord spat, glaring at William. “While he buys something for that whore?!”

There was a pause, and silence fell. Silence enough to hear the snapping of a harp string. And that harp string snapping was the sound of William’s temper going up in flames.

The lord found himself shoved up against a wall, William’s hand moved to the front of the lord’s clothes, a hair away from choking him. “Ye’ll be wantin’ tae be rethinkin’ yer choice ay words, ‘lord’,” he snarled, face twisted into a furious scowl. He didn’t even bother to mind his accent now, fury touching his every word. “Ah’ll nay be hearin’ a word ‘gainst me grievin’ sister!”

“Unhand me!” he yelled, ineffectually scrambling at William’s hand. William only pressed him harder against the wall, eyes narrowing. “I am a lord of House Bonfaurt and I _demand_ you unhand me!” After a long moment William turned, still holding the lord, and threw him out the open door, onto the street.

“Aye, ‘course yer lordship,” he growled. “Ah’ll be makin’ a note ay yer house, be tellin’ Count Edmont de Fortemps how ye’re speakin’ tae an’ ‘bout his wards.” To the lord’s minimal credit he only stood, brushed himself off, and with far more dignity than he was actually in possession of, simply walked away from the Crozier.

William huffed and reigned his temper back in, straightening his shirt and turning back to the shopkeeper, intending on apologizing for his behavior, and was surprised when she held up her hand. “I thank you for finally taking him down a peg,” she said with a smile. “He treats all my customers like that. For the Lady O’Donnell, you said?” William raised an eyebrow but nodded. “Choose what you like, half off.”

It wasn’t quite the reward he would have liked, but he hadn’t done it for a reward. After making his earlier selections, along with an apple tart, and a cheese souffle for himself, the shopkeeper added two bottles. “Mint lassi and lavender oil,” she explained with a smile. “I’ve several of my own, and the mint settled my stomach while the lavender covered up unpleasant scents. No cost.”

“Me thanks, miss,” William said with a smile in return, handing the gil over to her and collecting his items.

“You’re quite welcome, Master O’Donnell,” she said with a bow. “And please, let me know if Lady O’Donnell is in need of anything.” She then winked at him. “You can skip the line.”


	25. The Right Information

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #25: Obsolete

If Brigid had to listen to one more word out of Zhai'a’s mouth she was going to drag him to Western Coerthas to find a broken hole in some ice and _throw him down it_.

They were in the Forgotten Knight, Brigid trying desperately to use drink to drown out what the conjurer was saying, when really what she most wanted to do was straight up drown _him_.

She wasn’t a hateful woman, not really. And she didn’t want to kill indiscriminately, even if she sometimes looked like it. There were just some people who hit every single button so perfectly that they practically begged for it. And Zhai’a Nelhah of the Seedseer Council was but one of those people.

“I explicitly told you not to interfere in my investigation! If nothing else, this shows the bloody outcome of a battle between opposing black mages. Fighting destructive power with more destructive power...” he lectured, Brigid not paying much attention to him. None of it was worthwhile anyway. “It's such thinking that led to the War of the Magi. I'm sure I needn't remind you of the outcome of that war.”

Brigid sighed, sitting back in her chair and idly watched the (sadly watered down, at her request) amber liquid in her scratched and somewhat chipped glass slosh back and forth. “Oh aye, the Sixth Umbral Calamity, and ‘twas all ‘cause the White Mages were havin’ to be stickin’ their noses where they werenae bein’ wanted,” she said in the most bored tone she could muster, lips only quirking a little at the sputtering coming from the Miqo’te across the table from her.

“Were your black mage teachers telling you such nonsense?” he finally asked, brow furrowing at her. “White mages being to blame in the War, such blatant black magic propaganda I’ve never heard in my life.”

“Nay,” she said, still bored, but voice starting to take an angry edge to it. “‘Twas hearin’ it from the Bards.” And she suddenly missed Sanson and Guydelot, realizing she really ought to see if they had made any progress in their search for that song. “Are you wantin’ to be callin’ them practitioners of black magic too?” Her voice held a note of warning that even an idiot like Emmanellain de Fortemps could pick up on.

Zhai’a was apparently even more idiotic than the youngest Fortemps brother.

“Clearly they’ve only been taken in by said black mage propaganda,” he decided, brushing the very idea aside.

She sighed and none too gently sat her glass down on the table, the sound of glass against wood a dull ‘thunk.’ This wasn’t a card she enjoyed playing. “You’re realizin’ I’m bein’ an O’Donnell, aye?”

Zhai’a scoffed, leaning back and crossing his arms. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

Brigid leaned back as well, settling her clasped hands on a knee. “If the name Llewellyn O’Donnell, White Mage of the Warriors of Light is meanin’ anythin’ to you, aye.” She smiled to herself as the wheels visibly started to turn in the Moon Keeper’s head. His ears and tail shot up as he finally realized the implications of what she’d said.

“By the Twelve you’re his sister aren’t you?” And then he frowned, ears flattening. “I’m sure he must be ashamed that his sister took up such a destructive path.” She gritted her teeth, but said nothing. “I’m sure he’s tried to turn you from from it and you’ve done him a disservice by ignoring him.”

“He’s bein’ right proud of me, in fact,” she finally growled out. “Me dark magics are meanin’ ‘tis harder for the monsters to be gettin’ close ‘nough to be hurtin’ folk, and ‘tis meanin’ the less folk he’s needin’ to be healin’.”

“Matters are worse than I suspected,” the Miqo’te muttered to himself, though it was clear to Brigid she was meant to hear it. “If even Master Llewellyn himself could be blinded to the evils his own sister practices we are in grave danger.”

Her eyebrow twitched, at that point the only sign of her anger. “Would you be likin’ to be reconsiderin’ those words?”

A single ear twitched. “That you’ve either tricked one of the kindest men I know or he’s blinded by his now clearly misplaced affection for you? Which would you prefer to hear?”

Brigid hummed softly and nodded. “Aye, alright then.” With that she reached over and grasped the front of his robes, dragging him bodily over the table, caring not at all about the glasses being scattered, but thankfully not breaking. She loomed over him, eyes flashing in near-rage, and distantly she realized it was probably for the best that it was an incredibly slow day in the Knight. “I’m wantin’ you to be realizin’ somethin’ very important, you incompetent fool,” she snarled. “Be lettin’ go of your outdated _nonsense_ and be leavin’ me be!” She resisted the urge to throw him across the room, and instead released his robe, leaving a darkened hand print where she had been gripping. “‘Tis bein’ your only warnin’.”

She promptly turned on her heel and ascended the stairs, calling out to Gibrillont to put _her_ drink on her tab and ignoring the near-hissing and invective being thrown at her by Zhai’a. Bloody conjurers, self-righteous the lot of them.

Well, the right words in the right ear could always… _inspire_ a turn around in a person. Perhaps she could find a way to _inspire_ a change of heart in Zhai’a. If nothing else, there was a chance he could _leave her alone_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a Merry Christmas if you celebrate, and if you don't, happy weekly reset day/Tuesday!


	26. Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #26: Sacred

There were many sacred locations in Hydaelyn. The Marks of the Twelve that all couples intending to complete a Ceremony of Eternal Bonding had to undertake, various places where Dalamud had fallen could count as sacred, the Sanctum of the Twelve where the Ceremonies were held, and so many others, and that was just in Eorzea. There were many more in the Far East.

When she finally set foot on its soil, she would consider the Azim Steppe in and of itself to be sacred to her, and would always hold it closest to her heart.

She had traveled all over Eorzea, finding and praying at many of these sacred locations. Sometimes she would be forced to fight in them, kill in them. The Vault would never feel sacred to her or the rest of her family, too much blood had been shed there in the interests of unholy causes. In the name of sacrilege.

Despite the chill of the region, Coerthas would always hold the most sacred place in all the world to her, a holiness that only the Azim Steppe would ever even come close to touching. In an out of the way and forgotten village in Western Coerthas there was a small tavern. It was one she had found while she was mourning for everything in Ul’dah, a place where no one knew who she was, or in fact cared. There she sang for extra coin, there she drank her sorrows to a distance but never away, there she sobbed the worst of her tears so that her brothers would never have to see her at her weakest.

And there she met him. The man who saw her as she sang, as she cried, and only sought to put her sorrows at ease. She let him, let him hold her as she cried, let him soothe her with his deep rumbling voice, let him take her on the bed of rough woven sheets and cotton filled mattress.

The man who gave her her child, though neither realized it at the time. And she did not realize it was him until the child was born. Her ray of sunshine in a land of snow.

She would return sometimes, to that tiny tavern that held a sacred place in her heart. Sometimes to sing for her coin, sometimes to cry for new reasons, and though she wouldn’t admit it to herself, perhaps to see him again, to let him know what he’d done, to thank him for it. For returning hope to her.

She never did see him again, not in Coerthas. _Only a traveler passing through_ , he’d said. Two ships passing in the night, was the Lominsan saying. His ship was the lifeboat she’d needed that day, and she would forever be thankful to him for it. She would sometimes pause and silently pray, to the Twelve, to his deities, to anyone who would listen, thanking them for him, asking for his safety, wishing for his protection.

If only she could remember his name, it had seemed so unimportant that night, in comparison to that feeling of safety he gave her. That feeling of hope.

Hope was sacred, after all.


	27. Idiocy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #27: Idiocy  
> Warning for slut shaming. Yes, again.

He might have been a Warrior of Light, but Connor was still a teenager. Being a teenager, he of course behaved in certain predictably unpredictable ways. Meaning, he was of course prone to saying really dumb things.

Really, _really_ dumb things.

He never actually meant them, except when he did, they just came flying out sometimes. He also was subject to the family temper, which ruined his filter even more. Connor’s main failing was always that he rarely thought before he spoke. “Clearly unsuited for a casting role,” Arthur had grumbled.

Arthur wasn’t very good about not saying dumb things either.

Connor hadn’t thought much about Sammy when he joined the party, the final damage dealer they needed to make a full party of eight, other than: archer, Lalafell, closer to Connor’s age, and cute like a lamb. It was nice to have someone his age around, even if they were a few years older than him. Sammy was a good kid, he thought, and was certainly happy enough with him to let the Lalafell ride on his shoulders through muck that would otherwise swallow him up.

Then he found out Sammy was Llewellyn’s boyfriend. Not that he had any kind of problem with Llewellyn having a boyfriend (or a girlfriend for that matter, though it would surprise him) or that said boyfriend was a Lalafell. No, the moment that he shoved his foot in his mouth was “Bro... he looks younger than me,” when he realized it.

Sammy clung to Llewellyn and hid his face, mumbling something that included the words “twenty two” in Llewellyn’s neck and Llewellyn himself sighed, rubbing his back and pressing a kiss to Sammy’s temple. “I try not to think about it,” he murmured, politely ignoring how Connor’s face and ears were starting to turn a bright red and how he shuffled his feet awkwardly.

“Does it matter?” Sammy asked meekly, and Connor’s heart broke at the very idea that he upset Sammy, much less the fact that he did. So he shook his head, eyes fixed on the ground. There was a moment of silence until he saw Sammy approaching, eyes big and sad. “We’re still friends, right?” he asked, and Connor felt his heart turn to mush. He shook his head slightly and scooped Sammy up for a hug.

“Better. You’re my brother now,” he murmured, Sammy squeaking in surprise before hugging him back, Llewellyn smiling indulgently behind them.

Of course that wasn’t even the worst of Connor’s awkward statements and horrible moments. No no, he had many and varied terrible things fly out of his mouth. Especially when he was drunk. By the Twelve, _especially_ when he was drunk.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have been getting drunk at his age, but when you’re framed for as many things in Ul’dah as they were, stuck in the frozen land that was Coerthas post-Calamity, and nursing a growing Dark Knight path, a man was allowed to drink the Forgotten Knight dry, okay?

And since Gibrillont decided to “suggest” he return to Fortemps Manor to sleep off his eventual hangover, it seemed he was getting fairly close to doing so. He rose from his stool and ambled towards the stairs, keeping his eyes to the ground so that the room wouldn’t spin. Just as he turned the corner of the banister he bumped into someone… or rather someone’s belly.

“Watch where you're going you fa—” At the sharp gasp he looked up… to lock eyes with his maybe five moons pregnant sister. “Ahhhh Brigid... hi."

Instantly tears sprang to her eyes and she placed a hand on her belly, which really wasn’t that big. “Connor,” she murmured, wiping at a stray tear as she moved away from him as fast as possible, and just as quickly hiding herself away in a room in Cloud Nine, the attached inn. Acorn, her nutkin, had fallen from her shoulder as she ran off, and if an adorable fluffy critter that was constantly falling over itself chasing after his acorn could glare at him, this one certainly was.

He was suddenly thankful for his armor as Acorn turned literal tail on him and bounced off to the door Brigid had gone through, which opened enough for the nutkin to go in as well. He ignored the glares everyone nearby was shooting him as he, red as a rolanberry, climbed the stairs up to the aetheryte shard to return to Fortemps Manor.

Connor really needed to stop drinking.

Not only was it not good for him, it was certainly even worse for his reputation. He had been invited out to drink with Emmanellain and some others and he accepted. Well, more like was heavily encouraged to go because the youngest Fortemps was in desperate need of a babysitter and after Camp Cloudtop Brigid refused to be in the same room as him. Point is, he went out drinking with Emmanellain and a few others.

A bit into their cups, the subject of Arthur, Matsu, and Araki came up. “A Hyur and _two_ Auri!” crowed one of them, who clearly held his drink as well as Arthur could. “One is unusual enough, but two?”

The group laughed the laugh of the horribly drunk, and Connor along with them, his cup settling on the table heavily. “I have no idea how they _work_!” he proclaimed, a drunken smile on his face. “I mean, do they take turns or what?”

“We sometimes kick the other out of bed and make him watch,” came a soft but clearly displeased voice, and Connor froze, knowing exactly who that voice belonged to. He met Emmanellain’s eyes, which must have echoed the _oh fucking shit_ look in his own before turning around to meet violet on dark purple eyes. Matsu.

He pasted a smile on his face, knowing exactly what the second Azure Dragoon could do to him if he didn’t make this right. “Matsu!” he chirped. “We… we were just talking about you!”

“So I heard. Llewellyn would be disappointed in you.”

And that was the worst thing Matsu could ever do or say. “I’m sorry?” he tried, clearly humiliated. Matsu nodded but kept his hand off his lance.

“You are.” With that he sat down and wordlessly took both his and Emmanellain’s drinks.

The next morning Connor would try to apologize, only for Matsu to brush him off. “You feel guilty, that’s enough.”

Connor considered it a miracle he was able to keep his foot out of his mouth for the next moon. The others thought it was a miracle he _lived_ through his next mistake.

They were walking through the Pillars, himself, Brigid, and William, on their way back from the Crozier where Brigid had apparently _desperately_ needed more of a certain shopkeeper’s apple tarts and mint lassi. She was happily chatting with them and eating small bits of tart when someone spat at her feet, causing all three of them to stop short, Brigid’s lip starting to quiver.

“Tramp,” came a soft voice, belonging to a young noblewoman. She was clearly in her teens, or lower twenties if any older, and she moved to stand in their path. “You’re not even bonded, are you? And yet you parade that… _thing_ around like your brother does his dragon lovers!”

As William pulled Brigid close to him (there was no telling what some of these nobles would try, and he wouldn’t be surprised if this was another Bonfaurt) Connor quickly grabbed the young lady’s arm and _yanked_ her closer.

“The only one who can call my sister a tramp is me!” he growled, and only then realized what he said as the young lady’s eyes widened in shock. He looked over to Brigid who had hidden her face in William’s chest, and from the way her shoulders were shaking, she was sobbing. William, meanwhile, looked like he was trying to decide the best way to kill both of them. “...And I don't, I swear it on Mum's grave, Bri, _please don't kill me_!”

The young lady jerked her arm out of Connor’s grip, which had gone quite lax and she ran away from them, clearly startled out of whatever further abuse she wanted to heap upon them. Connor, meanwhile, remained frozen in place as William growled and outright swept Brigid up in his arms and strode past Connor, not even giving him a second look. Connor just wished he could fall through the ground and into the aethereal currents that kept Ishgard afloat in the Sea of Clouds.

Hours later he trudged home, clearly ashamed of himself and avoiding the eyes of everyone nearby, especially his family. He was nearly to the main hallway leading the the living quarters when Count Edmont gently placed a hand on his shoulder. “She’ll be in her room, son,” he said softly, seemingly unbothered by Connor keeping his eyes glued to the floor. “I’m sure she’d be happy for an apology.” He winced as the count pulled his hand away. Even their guardian had heard of his idiocy, wonderful.

Still, he sat down with his back to Brigid’s door, sighing softly. “Hey Bri?” he called, and tried not to wince again as something thumped quietly against the door. He could hear her sniffle and cut off a sob before she spoke.

“Go ‘way.”

He took a deep breath and ran his fingers though his hair. “I’m sorry, alright?”

“Sorry for what? Callin’ me fat or a t-tramp?” Twelve above he really was an idiot wasn’t he? “Nay like you’re bein’ the only one, they’re all doin’ it.”

“You’re not either of those things, sister, I promise,” he tried, turning around to face the door. “I’m sorry, everything’s coming out wrong and at the worst times and I don’t mean any of it, I promise!” He leaned his head against the door, sighing softly. “You’re not a tramp, Bri, and you’re not fat either. And even if you were those, it’s not bad. They’re just… they’re arseholes, alright? And I’m an arsehole too.”

There was a long pause, a sniffle. “Aye you’re bein’ that.” He flinched, just a little, but she was right. “Honest and true, you’re bein’ sorry?” She’d moved closer to the door, from the sound of her voice. It was louder and clearer now, and Connor rested his forehead against it.

“Honest and true, sis. I’m sorry.”

Another long pause. “Aye, alright,” she said softly. “Go ‘way.” She’d moved again, and Connor’s heart sank. “Nay ready to be seein’ you yet.”

“…That’s fair,” he said, sighing. “Dinner?”

“…Breakfast. I’m stayin’ in tonight. Liam is too.” He wondered if William was still with her, which was a stupid thought really, since except when she sent him to the market or out on ventures he’d stayed nearly attached to her hip since they discovered she was pregnant.

“Okay.” He stood, paused. “…I do love you, sis. Even though I’m an idiot.”

“I love you too Connor.” She didn’t disagree with him.

Suitable punishment for sticking his whole leg and part of his hip in his mouth, he supposed.


	28. Lacking Competition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #28: Rivalry

It was a rare treat of late that Brigid and Thancred were in the Rising Stones at the same time, one that Brigid knew better than to take for granted. At least he man had realized that taking breaks was good for his health (or the breaks he was taking were enforced, it could go either way) and he was around more often. Brigid, on the other hand, was often sent on tasks for the Scions when Thancred was at the Stones. If she didn’t know better, she’d suspect the universe of conspiring against them. Knowing both their luck, perhaps it was.

When she returned to the Stones on a day that Thancred was also home, she was thrilled. Her happiness and amusement only grew as she walked into the bar to discover Thancred surrounded by quite the crowd of admirers. Admirers who were not best pleased with each other.

She laughed to herself as she sat at the bar next to Y’Shtola and Papalymo. “‘Tis happenin’ over there?” she asked, grinning brightly.

“Seems like Lover Boy’s conquests have caught up with him,” Y’Shtola said, trying not to smile at his misfortune. Trying, and failing utterly.

Brigid laughed again, shaking her head fondly. “Aye, ‘course they have. Were they really all thinkin’ they were bein’ his one and only?” She took a sip from the glass F’Lhaminn set down at her elbow, nodding her thanks to the Miqo’te.

“It would seem so,” Papalymo muttered, pretending like he was above it all, but Brigid could see the twinkle in his eyes that betrayed his amusement.

She smirked and downed the rest of the whiskey in her glass before standing. “Well, I should be checkin’ in on him,” she said on a grin.

“And your rivals?” Y’Shtola added with a clear grin.

Brigid shook her head, winking at her. “Cannae be me rivals when there’s nay bein’ a competition, can they?” With that she walked off, head craning to see over the throng.

“She’s going to throw ceruleum on that fire,” Papalymo muttered, and Y’Shstola nodded.

“Indeed, but it shall be entertaining to watch.”

Brigid wound her way through the group, grinning to herself. When she finally reached Thancred, who looked completely lost at how to handle matters, she laughed fondly and kissed his cheek. “Hello darlin’, dealin’ with your adorin’ fans?”

“Ah, Brigid,” he said, relief tinging his voice. They both ignored the gasps that had followed Brigid’s arrival, and the subsequent layers of argument that started up once they got over their shock. “Such a timely arrival, as always. Perhaps I could introduce you?” Despite the evenness of his voice, his eyes practically screamed _save me_.

She smirked and slid her eyes over the various women surrounding them, most of them having turned their ire on her instead of Thancred or each other. “Mm, I dinnae think you’re needin’ to. They’re all bein’ quite pretty though, havin’ lovely taste me dear.” With another kiss to his cheek she giggled and turned to weave her way back out of the crowd. “Good luck with them,” she chirped with a fond laugh.

They might not have been her rivals in her mind, but it was such fun to see the behavior of those who thought they were.


	29. False (?) Prophecy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #29: Prophecy

It was difficult for Arthur to make friends. He simply wasn’t very good with people, not even the others in the Arcanists Guild who were just as… odd… as he was. He was better with the carbuncles, letting the Ruby, Blodwen, follow him around the most. He loved them all, of course, but Niamh, the Topaz… had opinions on the rest of the world and wasn’t shy to share them. Emerald, Líle, kept getting lost. His friendship with the Wandering Minstrel, Shida, had surprised the whole family but they were thankful he was making friends with _someone_.

“There’s a prophecy that a Warrior of Light will bring peace between Spoken and Dravanian,” he commented, quite out of the blue as the two sat at the bar together.

Arthur glanced over at him and away from his latest summoning array. “Is there now?” he asked, voice even and approaching bored.

“No,” he said with a shit eating grin. “But if I say there is long enough, people will begin to believe it.” He bowed in his seat. “Please look forward to it.”

Arthur snorted and returned to his array. He would beat Alphinaud to the next new carbuncle if he had anything to say about it. “And which Warrior of Light would you choose for this?” he asked, rolling his eyes at himself as he encouraged Shida. “Brigid?”

“I was considering you.” Arthur choked on air before looking up and staring at the minstrel. “Your relationship with the Ryuzaki twins makes for such… fertile ground, don’t you think?”

Arthur narrowed his eyes at him, not sure what to make of his words so far. “Does it now?”

“How often do non-adventurers see a Hyur with one Auri, much less two?” Shida replied, leaning against the bar. “And that your relationship _works_ —”

“Which depends heavily on your definition of ‘works’, thank you,” Arthur interrupted. Shida ignored him.

“—despite the inherent sibling rivalry involved and the culture differences.” He grinned. “And of course the opinion of the Coerthans would be swayed in your favor if there was a…” Shida waved his hand as he thought. “A theological explanation for it, given their similarities to the Dravanians.”

Arthur sighed and shook his head. “Shida, do me a favor, as a friend?”

“Of course!”

“Don’t pretend there’s any prophecies about me or my lovers, please. History has its eyes on me enough, thank you.”

Shida nodded and returned to tuning his harp. “Very well, my friend.” He was silent for a moment, then smirked. “You realize this leaves the rest of your delightful party open, yes?” Another bow. “Please look forward to it.”

“SHIDA NO!”


	30. Frost and Flame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #30: Frost

Brigid had traveled to Ul’dah when she decided to take up the path of the adventurer. She had been made aware of the Thaumaturgy guild as a young girl, of people who could freeze others in place, shock them with thunder, and fling fire around as though it was something as simple as breathing. That idea, of controlling the fire she felt in her soul, had guided her choice to leave for the dry heat of Ul’dah.

It had been more of a challenge to find them than she would have liked, but once she did and she took the scepter in her hand, she felt a rush of energy flow through her. _Cold_ energy, such that took her breath away. She had been unprepared for it and it was startling. She nodded as she accepted her assignment: Cull the population of three certain creatures in Central Thanalan.

She easily found her targets and planted her feet in the sandy earth, trying not to cough as she felt the dust in the air clog her lungs. She did as she had been told, channel her aether through the scepter and cast _Blizzard_. As the spell erupted from the scepter and impacted the star marmot she gasped sharply, feeling what seemed like a shard of ice pierce her lungs. She was thankful it only took one hit to take the creature down, as she had to pause and take several deep breaths, forcing away the pain in her chest.

She only got through another star marmot and a hornet before she finally had to stop and nearly fall to her knees from the pain tightening in her chest. She had been a sickly child, prone to colds and the dropsy, and as a result her lungs were still very weak and did not tolerate the chill very well. In the back of her mind she was thankful that the creatures around the Gate of Nald were more docile than the ones in greater Thanalan would be, and they didn’t bother her as she gasped for air and tried to recover from the horrible _tightness_ that gripped her chest.

She quickly decided that she would hold _Blizzard_ as a last resort and rarely ever use it once she was able to use the _Fire_ spell she was told would swiftly follow. She nodded to herself and tried to stand, deciding to continue on as best she could, before her lungs spasmed in a hacking cough, bringing up gritty mud from her chest. Ice, sand, mud, her lungs were never going to forgive her for any of this, she knew.

Ul’dah was horrible and she could not _wait_ to move on from there. Still, she gathered herself, tied her handkerchief around her nose and mouth, and inhaled. Flame would melt the frost, she simply had to power through. Like the sun on a snowbank.

She channeled her aether again, and fired on another hornet. As it went down, she went down. But she picked herself back up and tried again. And again. She refused to let the frost defeat her at her first steps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap for #FFXIVWrite2017! But don't worry, we'll continue on Janurary 1 with #FFXIVWrite2018, _Find the Strand_.
> 
> I hope you all have a lovely new year!


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